
[ay 70 



MEMOIR 



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AND 

SELECT WRITINGS 



WILLIAM REED PRINCE 

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EDITED BY N. A. PRINCE. 



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WITH A SKETCH OP HIS QUALITIES AS A PREACHER, 

BY GEORGE SHEPARD, D. D. 

PROFESSOR IN THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY, BANqOf.i 



PORTLAND: 

HYDE, LORD & DUREN. 

1846. 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846. 

BY HYDE, LORD AND DUREN, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Maine. 



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W. FENLEy. PRINTER. 



SONNET 

TO 

THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM R. PRLNCE, 



BY MRS. E. OAKES SMITH. 



Thou wert to us, oh pure and gifted one, 
Like to a voice, heard in the summer eve 
Where old gray rocks and trees their shadows weave- 

A strong, thought-joyful and up-stirring tone 

From a full being uttered, and then gone : 
We listen — where away the bald cliffs heave 
The voice dies out, and silence sits to grieve — 

Thou the sad echo in the hearts that moan. 
Thrice blessed thus to go with thy strong dower 

Of thought, and will and love, the dregs of life 
Untasted — to have felt the solemn power 

So wondrous in ourselves, and then all rife 
With thine unclouded being, in the hour 
That saw thee fit for combat, go — nor know the strife. 



Soon after the decease of Mr. Prince, a desire was 
expressed by many, that a memorial of his life and charac- 
ter, together with selections from his writings, might be 
given to the public. The present work was accordingly 
undertaken. Such extracts from his correspondence have 
been inserted as may revive in the minds of some reminis- 
cences of past friendship, and disclose to others his promi- 
nent characteristics as a scholar, as a friend, and as a candi- 
date for the office of the Christian Ministry. Moreover the 
hope is cherished, that his example of energetic and suc- 
cessful effort in encountering the obstacles incident to a 
course of thorough preparation for the work of preaching 
the Gospel, may incite others to a like undertaking, and 
encourage and strengthen those already thus engaged. Such 
Selections from his discourses and other writings have been 
made, as exemplify his habits of thinking and style of 
expression, and as, it is hoped, will aid in promoting that 
cause to which he had devoted himself, 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



MEMOIR. 

His Childhood, - - 1. 

His Conversion, - 4. 

His Academic Course, ------ 5. 

His Collegiate Course, - -7. 

His Residence at St. Stephen, N. B. 3 - - 18. 

His Theological Course, - -22. 

Traits of his Character, - 88. 

His Last Days, ------ - 45. 

Extracts from Dr. Pond's Sermon on the occa- 
sion of his Death, ------- 64. 

His Qualities as a Preacher, -. - - 73, 

SERMON I. 

THE IMMUTABILITY OF THE DIVINE LAW. 

It is easier for Heaven and Earth to pass than 
one tittle of the Law to fail. Luke 16 i 17. - 88. 

SERMON II. 



the Tests of piety. 



Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy 
heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. 
Matthew 22 : 87. - - - - - - - 106. 



X TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

SERMON III. 

THE CONNECTION OF REASON WITH RELIGION. 

And he reasoned in the synagogue every Sabbath, and 
persuaded the Jews and the Greeks. Acts 18 : 4. 122. 

SERMON IV. 

THE SINNER'S REGRETS. 

And thou mourn at the last, when thy flesh and thy 
body are consumed, and say, how have I hated instruc- 
tion, and my heart despised reproof. Proverbs 5: 
II, 19. 141. 

SERMON V. 

NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 

There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked. 
Isaiah 57 : 21. - - 150. 



SERMON VI. 

THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 

In every thing by prayer and supplication, with 
thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto 
God. Philippians 4 : b\ - - - - - - 175. 



SERMON VII. 

MYSTERIES. 

If I have told you of earthly things, and ye believe 
not, how shall ye believe if I tell you of heavenly 
things ? John 3 : 12. - - ... 192. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. XI 

SERMON VIIL 

HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 

I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness. 
Ps. 17: 15. 211. 

MISCELLANIES. 

An examination of some of the popular views, 
which sustain the practice of war. - - - -227. 

What are the grounds and limits of our responsibili- 
ties in the propagation of truth on the subject of sla- 
very ?----- _.. 251. 

Skepticism, - - 269. 

Review of Mrs. E, 0. Smith's Poems, - - 274. 

Thoughts on the Divinity of Christ, - - - 281. 

The Soul's Immortality, 290. 

The effective Utterance of Truth, - - - 293. 

Christ the Bread of Life. ----- 300. 



MEMOIR 

OF 

WILLIAM R. PRINCE. 

HIS CHILDHOOD. 

William Reed Prince was bom in Cumberland, 
Me. Aug. 11th 1817. He was the fourth son of 
Mr. Paul and Mrs. Abigail R. Prince. He was 
lineally descended and of the eighth generation, 
from Rev. John Prince, who in the early part of the 
seventeenth century was rector of East Strafford, 
Berkshire County, England. The eldest of his four 
sons John.Prince Jr., having spent two or three 
years at Oxford University, and embraced the princi- 
ples of the Non-Conformists, emigrated to Massachu- 
setts in 1633. He is the ancestor of most of those, 
who bear his name in New England. 

In infancy he was consecrated by his parents to 
God in baptism. He was but little more than two 
years of age, when his mother died. She was a 
1 



« MEMOIR. 

godly woman, who dedicated all her children to 
God from their birth. Though deprived of his 
mother so early in life, yet he was wont to speak of 
her with deep interest. He said, he had a distinct 
recollection of her. Her memory to him was in- 
deed blessed, as it is to all her surviving children. 
Her fervent prayers in their behalf have been rich- 
ly answered. Three of them are with her in the 
heavenly mansions, and the three who yet remain 
on earth, cherish the hope of meeting them there 
when life's work is done. 

The elementary principles of the christian relig- 
ion were early inculcated on his mind by his father 
and excellent step-mother. For their untiring 
efforts to bring their children to the knowledge of 
the truth, he often expressed much gratitude dur- 
ing the latter part of his life, both in his conversation 
and letters. This appears in the following extract of 
a letter addressed to his father, Dec, 29, 1841. 

" Had I not had a pious and kind father, I know not 
what I should have been ; probably a miserable, ruined 
mortal, a pest to the world and a grief to friends. I feel 
grateful that God gave me pious parents. The reflection 
that my parents have prayed for me, and do still, has 
filled me with joy in my saddest hours. Thewords of my 
dying mother, " God will take care of them," have often 
in the darkest seasons of life filled me with the assurance 
that I should never be abandoned of God. And then I 
feel that that there are many prayers filed on God's altar 
for me — a legacy richer by far lhan any earthly posses- 
sion. I know not but I am receiving the answers to those 
prayers. What a blessed thought to have bank-stock in 
Heaven, receiving daily a large interest. It is a good 



and safe bank, where the poor man and a pious mother 
may deposit wealth, that will make a child happy while 
on earth and rich through eternity." 

Feb. 4th 1845, he thus writes to his father: 

" My prayer is that God will remember his covenant 
with our family through all coming generations, that 
down to the latest posterity they may ever hold fast 
the form and spirit of sound doctrine. I have blessed the 
Lord a thousand times for the sound doctrines that were 
taught me in my youth. Those doctrines are now sweet 
unto my taste. The impressions which you made upon 
my religious life will never be effaced. The truths 
you taught me are now the life of my soul. They have 
been as anchors by which I have been safely and calmly 
moored amid the wild heavings of delusion and error. 
The more I drink into the spirit of them, the more often 
I thank my Heavenly Father, that they were taught me 
in early childhood. I remember your prayers and tears 
for me, and shall till 1 die. God bless you, my beloved 
father. May Heaven grant to you a rich reward in your 
own bosom for your many prayers and acts for me." 

His means of education were limited, for the most 
part, to the common district school. He felt but lit- 
tle interest in books during his earlier years. He 
had naturally a great flow of spirits, and confine- 
ment to study was not very congenial to his feel- 
ings. He found more pleasure in the labors and rec- 
reations of the farm, than in his studies. Nor is 
this to be regretted, as by these means he acquired 
much physical strength and energy, which after- 
wards proved of so much service to him. When 
but a mere boy he manifested a fondness for exer- 
cises in declamation. He no doubt at this time re- 
ceived a lasting impulse in this direction. He, at 



least, gave some indications of what he was capable 
of doing as a speaker, if properly trained. 

HIS CONVERSION. 

His mind was occasionally awakened to the ne- 
cessity of preparation for eternity. The warnings 
and counsels of his father were not without effect. 
Though his anxiety for his spiritual welfare was of- 
ten of short duration, still he was not entirely at rest. 

During the summer of 1830 a good work of 
grace began in his native place. Many of the 
young were awakened, and some of them hop- 
fully converted. In this revival his attention was 
arrested. For some weeks he exhibited a deep so- 
licitude for the salvation of his soul. But his 
feelings gradually subsided. The following sum- 
mer of 1831, God was pleased to pour out his Spir- 
it powerfully upon the people of Cumberland. He 
was again wrought upon ; his former convictions 
were revived. While the revival was in progress 
he was brought to yield his heart to God. He had 
been for some weeks in a distressed state of mind. 
His prospects were dark. No ray of hope gilded 
the future. He was a condemned sinner. His 
sister explained to him one evening the nature of 
submission to God and of faith in Christ. He 
paused, he reflected. He saw what he needed, 
that faith in Christ alone would save him. At this 
moment he was enabled to give up the contest. 
He submitted and found peace. From this time, 



for one of his age, he began to advance rapidly in 
the christian course. Though young, he had a 
good understanding of the great doctrines of the 
Cross. 

In the autumn of the same year, he united, to- 
gether with a large number of others, with the Con- 
gregational Church in C. It was a day of great 
solemnity and of joy to the church and its faithful 
pastor. 

HIS ACADEMIC COURSE. 

It was not long after his union with the church, 
that he began to show a strong thirst for knowledge. 
He read to a considerable extent what works he 
could obtain. But at this period he thought he had 
not sufficient natural talent to authorize his entering 
upon a course of thorough education. He was, 
however, induced by some friends, and through the 
influence of his pastor (Rev. Isaac Weston,) to 
turn his thoughts to this subject. Many obstacles 
presented themselves at the outset. These were 
soon so far removed as to warrant the attempt. 

In the autumn of 1833 he entered North Yar- 
mouth Academy. His previous privileges had been 
so limited, that his mind had received but little dis- 
cipline. He at once commenced the study of Lat- 
in with an energy and zeal, that promised well for 
the future. He advanced rapidly considering the 
difficulties he had to encounter at the outset. He 
remained at the academy but one term, and then 
resumed his labors on the farm. But he was not to 
*1 



6 MEMOIR. 

be satisfied with these. His strong desire for knowl- 
edge impelled him onward. The next spring he re- 
turned to N. Yarmouth. His [mind was acquiring 
new strength, and new and brighter prospects were 
opening before him. But he was again under the 
necessity of relinquishing his favorite employments 
for a few months. The subsequent autumn he was 
engaged in his academical studies, and a part of the 
following winter in teaching. After this time he 
pursued his studies with but few and short inter- 
ruptions, up to the period of his entering college. 

He acquired at this time much skill in debate. 
The exercises of the Phi. Log. Society of the acad- 
emy afforded an ample opportunity for the develop- 
ment and culture of his reasoning powers. In de- 
bate he made it a point to found his arguments upon 
some general principles, which could not be easily 
shaken. His manner was earnest, his arguments 
strong and logical. The mere assertions and rhetor- 
ical flourishes of an opponent never satisfied him. 
His mind always demanded proof. These youthful 
encounters had great influence in shaping his future 
course. They created a taste for polemical subjects, 
and a disposition to guard vigilantly the boundaries 
of Truth. 

His limited pecuniary resources imposed upon him 
the strictest economy. In no part of a student's 
course is there needed more of energy and enthusi- 
asm than in his academical. This is especially true 
if his means are stinted. He has old habits to break 



up, new ones to form, and at the same time to make 
provision"forJ future wants. There is of necessity a 
heavy burden laid upon him in the very beginning. 
He is beset on all sides with difficulties. And he, 
who has nerve enough to meet these at first, need 
never despair afterwards. If an education is worth 
having, it is worth laboring for ; even if it is to be 
obtained on the severe terms which poverty dictates. 
Such were his feelings. He determined to press 
forward at all hazards, casting himself, to use his 
own language, "upon the wave of Providence." 

While at N. Yarmouth he had many social and 
religious privileges. He availed himself of these so 
far as a proper regard to other duties permitted. 
His open and generous expression of countenance, 
and his honest and straight forward course of action 
won him many friends at this time. His letters writ- 
ten during his last year at the academy show that 
he was not only deeply interested in his studies, but 
in religious matters. 

He speaks of the weekly prayer meetings of the 
students, and of a strong desire for the outpouring 
of the Spirit upon them. He was associated with 
several kindred spirits, strongly attached to the Re- 
deemer's cause, and like himself ready to employ all 
their powers in its promotion. 

HIS COLLEGIATE COURSE. 

Having completed his preparatory studies, he en- 



8 MEMOIR. 

tered Bowdoin College in Sept. 1 S36. He had look- 
ed forward to this period with much interest. Nor 
was he disappointed in his expectations respecting 
college life. He soon became deeply absorbed in its 
pursuits. He found there choice spirits. Many of 
his classmates possessed a high order of talents and 
piety. He associated with these for the most part 
in his freshman year, with his characteristic frank- 
ness. 

His limited resources for meeting his current ex- 
penses rendered it necessary for Shim to engage in 
teaching a part of each year while in college. To 
this employment he devoted himself with an energy 
and zeal that uniformly insured success. The first 
two winters after entering college he spent in teach- 
ing Vocal Music in Waterford and its vicinity. Mr. 
H. Hamlin of Boston, at that time a resident in 
Waterford, thus alludes to his eflbrts in that place. 

"It was his first school. He commenced it un- 
der some disadvantages. He wished to introduce 
the Pestalozzian system of teaching, and we wished 
to have him. But it was unknown in that place, 
and objected to by the most influential singers, and 
ridiculed by others. But he persevered and sus- 
tained himself most admirably. The school was 
pleased with his method of teaching and made 
rapid progress in a knowledge of the science. He 
was at that time but nineteen years old, although 
we supposed him to be much older. He main- 
tained strict discipline in his school, which was 



very large, and won the esteem and respect of all 
classes." 

" The Congregational Church and society in W. 
had that season built a meeting house, which was 
dedicated soon after Mr. Prince commenced his 
school. The choir connected with the society re- 
quested him to assist in selecting and rehearsing the 
music for the occasion, and the chorister insisted 
that he should take his place for the time, which he 
consented to do. The choir succeeded remarkably 
well, and the energy and skill with which he con- 
ducted it were noticed by all, and were spoken of 
by many of our friends of other towns. He cer- 
tainly appeared like an experienced leader, but he 
assured me he had never taken charge of a choir be- 
fore, on any public occasions, and but a few times 
only on the Sabbath." 

" We employed him again the next season and 
he devoted himself to his school with equal energy 
and assiduity, and succeeded quite as well as be- 
fore." 

The winter vacation of his junior year he spent 
with his friends in Cumberland and in Brunswick. 
In the subsequent autumn he was employed in 
teaching a select school in South Paris, at the close 
of which he returned to Bowdoin, and applied him- 
self during the winter to study and general reading. 

Notwithstanding many necessary interruptions 
in his collegiate course, which he always regretted, 
he sustained an honorable rank as a scholar. The 



10 MEMOIR. 

studies of the senior year were very much adapted 
to his taste. He delighted in the investigation of 
philosophical subjects. He had the power of grasp- 
ing the strong points of a subject and skill in de- 
tecting fallacies. He was choice in the selection of 
authors, generally preferring such as require of the 
reader no small share of intellectual acumen and 
strength. Much of his time, not otherwise occupi- 
ed by the regular college studies, he employed in 
the examination of metaphysical and theological 
questions. His fondness for these was much in- 
creased by frequent discussion of their merits with 
some of his classmates. He was cautious in his re- 
searches for great principles, and when he had once 
settled them in his own mind, he was bold in their 
defense, and zealous in urging and enforcing the 
practical duties growing out of them. 

He was ardent in his attachment to his class- 
mates. He respected and loved them. In their 
trials and seasons of despondency he was ever ready 
to tender them his sympathy and aid. His 
strong affection for them did not cease with the 
termination of his college life, as will appear from 
subsequent correspondence. Those most intimately 
acquainted with him felt that they had in him a 
friend, whose constancy and devotion would not 
tire. For those of them looking forward to the 
same profession as himself, he cherished a warmer 
friendship. This was but natural. In their social 
and religious interviews they often alluded to the . 



II 



coming conflict in the arena of public life and mu- 
tually encouraged and strengthened their hearts to 
meet it. He felt a deep solicitude for the spiritual 
welfare of his classmates. In a letter addressed to 
a christian member of his class, dated South Paris, 
Oct. 30, 1839, he writes, 

"The time of our college life, Edward, I feel, is. 
fast passing away. What we do for the cause of 
Christ, we must do quickly. I cannot look back upon 
the religious life I have led, since I have been in col- 
lege with any degree of satisfaction. As I look upon 
the past, I can discover nothing but the thick mist and 
dark clouds of sin, that seem to rise up as from a stag- 
nant pool. H. I understand, is in an anxious state of 
mind. We ought to pray earnestly in his behalf. I 
fear, if he does not now become a christian, he never 
will." 

In the exercises of the religious meetings of the 
students he took an active part. His efforts with the 
unconverted were always judicious and well timed. 
He knew how to approach, and how to deal with 
the mind of the anxious. 

The prayer-meetings in college are often seasons 
of the deepest solemnity. Many minds there re- 
ceive an impulse, that can never die. Of such a 
character were many of the religious meetings in 
the spring term of his senior year. For awhile these 
meetings were held every evening in his room. 
Those, who attended them, will not soon forget the 
importunate prayers there put up in behalf of the 
unconverted and the earnest appeals to their con- 
sciences and hearts. His roommate was the amia- 



12 MEMOIR. 

ble, the devoted, and much lamented Eli Wight. 
Their solicitude for the salvation of their fellow 
students was of no ordinary kind, and exhibited it- 
self in their conduct, conversation and prayers. 
Those labors and intercessions, we trust, were not 
all in vain. Their influence is still felt by the 
christian brethren associated with them and by 
some, we hope, since born into the kingdom of 
God. His christian character in college was very 
uniform. His piety was not fitful. All his move- 
ments and labors as a christian were characterized 
by sound judgment tempered with love. 

There was one trait in his college life worthy of 
note in this connection. He was always the firm 
and unflinching supporter of all measures designed 
for the good of the college. He held in the utmost 
contempt that spirit of insubordination to the whole- 
some regulations of college, so often exhibited by 
many, and the idea of manliness in thwarting the 
the designs and wishes of the Faculty. He re- 
spected his instructors and was ever ready to assist 
in any undertaking for the benefit of his compan- 
ions in study, and for the general interests of the 
college. It was very much owing to his influence 
and that of a large number of his class, that Bow- 
doin enjoyed in their senior year an unusual de- 
gree of quiet. They felt, that they had a duty to 
perform in opposing every form of insobriety and 
dissipation. They did this, and the result proved 
the correctness of their position. 



MEMOIR. 13 

In the spring term he took part in the senior ex- 
hibition. His performance was characterized by 
much strength of style and energy in speaking, and 
was highly creditable to him. 

In course of the summer term he delivered be- 
fore the College Peace Society, at its anniversary, 
an oration on the examination of some of the princi- 
ciples which sustain the practice of war. It was a 
production exhibiting maturity of mind, and much 
logical acuteness. 

Immediately after the annual examination of his 
class he took leave of his Alma Mater. 

HIS RESIDENCE AT ST. STEPHEN, N. B. 

In the latter part of August he went to St. Steph- 
en, where he engaged in the business of instruction 
for a year. His labors in this place were onerous 
and successful. In addition to the instruction of 
his day school, and that of a large class in music, he 
found time for several hours of severe study each day. 

Writing to a classmate Sept. 10, he says, 

" I study more hours per day than I did in college, and 
intend to study still harder. I have been over the Intro- 
duction to Butler and am determined to go over the 
whole work again. It is a book of books. The more I 
study it, the more I like it." 

Sept. 30, he writes to an intimate friend and 

classmate respecting a plan he had formed of going 

to the West, and in a subsequent part of ihe letter 

thus alludes to his classmates : 



14 * MEMOIR. 

" I have not heard from any of my classmates except 
R. They are scattered to the four winds of heaven 
by this time. It is rather hard to be separated from class- 
mates dear. When I meet one of them again, I shall 
feel as though I had found a brother. I did not know 
before, S., that the ties which bind the members of a class 
together are so strong. They are almost as strong as 
those that bind happy hearts around the family altar. I 
find my affections rather cold to all others. I almost fear 
they are self-centering. In this barren world, 

'•'Our young affections run to waste, 
Or water but the desert." 

There are but few that enter into a student's feelings 
like his own classmates. I think the great failing in - — 
as well as in some others, is want of power of will. I 
believe this is indispensable to great attainments and 
noble deeds. There is but little persevering action, 
when there is a want of it. But where this power is ex- 
hibited in connection with strength of intellect, and the 
best qualities of the heart, I think it gives us an exhibi- 
tion of the moral sublime. The will of such a person in 
times of excitement stands like a lofty rock in the mov- 
ing seas of feeling: and 

" Though storms and tempests thunder on its brow, 
And oceans br?ak their billows at its |V< t, 
It stands unmoved, and glorious in its height." 

Oct. 10. He writes to his father, 

" If in the sunny days of boyhood, my affections clus- 
tered around the paternal hearth, as the place of joy and 
peace, and I sought it as eagerly as the traveller seeks in 
the desert some happy spot of verdure, where he may 
lay his weary limbs in repose, and in his gladness and 
rest forgets his days of toil and pain ; yet they have not 
so far become chilled by the cold frosts of the world, 
that the pulsations of my soul cease to beat high at the 
name of" home, sweet home." No ; the farther I wan- 
der from home, the more I love and value it. " Bless- 
ings brighten as they take their flight." Not a day passes 



MEMOIR. 15 

but I think of those, who alone can feel the deepest inter- 
est in my happiness ; and would that I could repay half 
of their care and affection. The only means I have of 
doing them good is to go to the throne of mercy and 
there pour out my full soul for their happiness and safety. 
And I find pleasure in doing this, because I can leave 
them in the hands of that Being, who bestows blessings 
not after the manner of an earthly benefactor. I love to 
think of home, for that is the place where, I believe, 
prayer daily ascends for me. A parent's heart will al- 
ways pray, though all others cease." 

There was an overflowing of affection for his 
friends, especially those with whom he had been as- 
sociated in the pursuit of learning. The following 
letter is to a classmate, who had gone to Andover 
Theo. Sem., and with whom he had contracted the 
closest friendship. 

« St. Stephen, N. B. Nov. 7, 1S40. 
My Dear Edward : 

I sit down and think, almost every evening, after 
I get a good fire built in my room, of days " lang syne ;" 
and I can assure you, amid the toils of the present and 
after the fatigues of the clay, the memory of those days 
comes over the mind, like the refreshing gales at eve- 
ning, breathed from the ocean of the past. I conjure up 
the forms of old friends and classmates, and they pass 
before me clothed in their wonted love and kindness ; but 
no eye beams with warmer splendor upon me than that 
of Edward." 

" You are at Andover, the School of the Prophets. I 
suppose you begin to wear a sober face in good earnest. 
Well, life is rather a sober affair after all. The study of 
theology should lead us to view it in its true light. We 
should watch unto prayer and be sober. But how hard 
it is for one to be guarded in his words, and grave in all 
things. 1 hope, dear E., you pray for me. I feel at 
times, when I have no heart to pray for myself, that I 



16 MEMOIR. 

can pour out my whole soul for you, that the richest of 
Heaven's blessings may be yours — that what ever may 
become of me, you may live to bless the world — to shine 
as a light to illumine its darkness. I hope, E., you live 
near to God, enjoy much of his presence ; that is the best 
place for a poor sinner. May Heaven bless you. 

Your Friend William." 

To his former roommate, E. Wight, in a letter 
dated Feb. 22, 1841, he says, 

"You ask in your letter if I mean to be a first rate 
speaker. I do, if God spares my life and health ; and 
not only a first rate speaker, but a sound, deep theolo- 
gian ; and above all things a most humble and devoted 
christian. Without the last ] shall be only as sounding 
brass and a tinkling cymbal, and for this I hope I have 
your sincere prayers. I find a desire springing up in 
my heart to live nearer to God — to live more devoted to 
Him — to live more as a stranger and a pilgrim on earth. 
I feel at times as though it would do me good to kneel 
down with you, and pray as we used to do. How many 
such delightful seasons did we have during the last spring 
term in college. I can look back upon those scenes with 
some degree of satisfaction. I wish that I felt as en- 
gaged now as I did then ; but I feel more so than I have. 
I pray more, I trust, and more fervently. I hope, chum, 
you have not forgotten me in your prayers. When you 
bend the knee before God, and gain a nearness to Him — 
if it is not too much to ask, remember your old chum, 
and pray for him, that he may live like a christian — may 
feel the obligations that rest upon him — may walk with 
God — may have a spirit of prayer continually leading 
him to the throne of grace." 

"Do you think much of eternity ? I almost tremble 
sometimes, lest I should never have the privilege of see- 
ing you again in this world. One of our class has al- 
ready gone to the spirit land. How soon we may follow ! 
Ah ! how little did he think last spring term that his end 
was so near ! , I understand, is also dead. And 



MEMOIR, 17 

soon the same may be said of us. I hope, we shall not 
forget to pray for our beloved Alma Mater." 

The apprehensions expressed in the above letter, 
in relation to the health of Mr. Wight, were fully 
realized in course of a few months. After leaving 
college he was engaged as Principal in the English 
Department of N. Yarmouth Academy. He re- 
mained there till near the close of the following 
spring session, when the impaired state of his health 
rendered it necessary for him to suspend his labors, 
and he returned to Bethel, his native town. His 
strength gradually failed, till he found a happy re- 
lease from his sufferings in the early part of the 
succeeding autumn. 

There were many admirable traits in the charac- 
ter of the beloved Wight. He was naturally of a 
mild and gentle disposition, of winning manners, of 
deep sympathies, and of a gracious smile, that wel- 
comed the pure and the good to his companionship. 
In the walks of science he stood among the first of 
his associates, and by his urbanity, large-hearted- 
ness and constancy, won the respect and love of 
all. He had devoted himself to the cause of the 
Redeemer. He looked forward to the Gospel min- 
istry with an eagerness to enter upon its duties. 
For this he seemed peculiarly fitted both by nature 
and grace. He possessed a sweet and fervid elo- 
quence, that always enchained the attention of his 
hearers. Of him it may with truth be said, as Cic- 
ero has remarked of an ancient orator, ex ejus 
lingua melle dulcior fluebat oratio. f*2 



18 MEMOIR. 

His piety was deep and practical. He prayed 
and labored for the salvation of his fellow stu- 
dents. " While in college (says the subject of 
this memoir in a letter to a classmate) Wight (a 
name dear to me) and I often kneeled together in 
our room and made you the subject of our special 
and earnest prayer. I can almost hear my old 
chum putting up his supplications with all the fer- 
vor of his soul. Often, after I had retired to bed, 
did I hear him sometimes for an hour pray for his 
beloved classmates," None knew him but to love 
him ; none listened to the sweet tones of his voice 
till his sentiments had penetrated their hearts, but 
who wished to listen again. His high aspirations, 
his attachment to truth and holiness, and his bright 
example, are embalmed in the memories of all who 
knew him. 

To another classmate he writes, 

St. Stephen, Mar. 17, 1841. 

" I have just been reading Wesley's views on Per- 
fection, and find some things there, that are very inter- 
esting. I think he is greatly wanting in logic in many 
parts. His mind is not well balanced, nor can I possess 
such high notions of his greatness as some of his follow- 
ers appear to have. What are your views in relation to 
perfection ? I have just began the examination of the 
subject ; yet even thus far I find many objections to the 
positions assumed. Wesley says, (and I believe it 
agrees with the views of others on the same subject) that 
" first, every one may mistake as long as he lives ; second- 
ly, a mistake in opinion may occasion a mistake in prac- 
tice ; thirdly, every such mistake is a transgression of 
the perfect law ; therefore, fourthly, every such mistake, 



MEMOIR. 19 

were it not for the blood of the atonement would expose 
to eternal damnation."* Now this mistake of judgment, 
or of the understanding, as they term it, and a state of per- 
fection or of perfect love, may exist in the same individ- 
ual at the same time. Let us look for a moment at some 
things, that would result from this. What if a person, 
perfect in this sense of the word, makes a mistake as to 
his personal duties, or the character of God ; he is still 
perfect. What, if he by an error of judgment mistakes 
his own feelings of heart — his need of atonement for his 
acts of misjudgment, he is still perfect. But according 
to Wesley, this mistake would expose him to " eternal 
damnation." Ergo, though sent to hell, he would still 
be perfect, and we should have perfect men in hell ! alias, 
a perfect hettl" 

" St. Stephen, April 10, 1341. 
Dear Friend E, 

I am growing very avaricious of time. I wasted so 
much while in college that I feel I ought to make it up 
some how. I study most of the time five hours per day 
out of school, and some days ! more. You perhaps re- 
member I shook hands with D., to study four hours per 
day out of school. I have received a most fatherly cau- 
tion from him not to exceed that number. His counsel 
is like the rain poured on the desert." 

Here alluding to some of his studies, after men- 
tioning several authors, he says, 

" But my favorite book is Butler. The more I read 
that work the more 1 admire, and may say, am astonish- 
ed at the power of Butler's mind. The work is, as 
Barnes says, a book of " principles." And the applica- 
tion of these [principles to the great truths and doctrines 
of Christianity fills me with delight. Barnes' Essay is 
first rate, in my opinion, and contains much and valuable 
thought." 

" I have made up my mind to read less and think 
Thought is the great thing after all. One may 



♦Vid : Wesley on C. Perfection p. 54. 



20 MEMOIR. 

read all his life time, and be a very ignorant man not- 
withstanding. I fear that heretofore I have not been 
sufficiently influenced by love of truth. But in future I 
I hope I shail be impelled with an earnest desire to know 
the truth, and follow it. I believe it is perfectly safe to 
follow truth wherever it leads. This principle ought to 
be embedded deeply in the heart. Hence if the transcen- 
dentalism of the present day is the truth, it should be re- 
ceived. I am not prepared to assert any decided opin- 
ion in relation to it, for I fear that I do not perfectly un- 
derstand it ; but I am inclined to think, if I have correct 
notions on the subject, that there is some truth in it, 
enough perhaps to overthrow the whole system of Unita- 
rianism. Transcendentalism is more prevalent among 
Unitarians than any other class ; and I think, it is a reach- 
ing, on the part of the higher order of minds, after a 
more vital, life-giving and spiritual system than Unita- 
rianism." 

" I do not at present think that Upham's argument 
against the self-determining power of the Will can be 
shown to be a petitio pri/icipiL" 

" I am glad you are giving your attention to mental 
and moral science. It is the field where I love to rove, 
and it gives me pleasure to have my " old fellow pedes- 
trian " by my side. Here it is that we are sure of meet- 
ing with the greatest and best of men and philosophers, 
such as Socrates, Plato, Cicero, Cousin, Locke, Burke, 
Stewart, Bacon, Eeid, Butler, &c. One can but be in- 
structed in the company of such men." 

" How does the doctrine of perfection get along among 
you at Andover ? Have many embraced it ? I have 
began the examination of the subject, but thus far must 
still believe, that there is no perfect holiness on earth. I 
desire to know the truth in respect to the matter." 

About this time his mind was actively engaged 
in the examination of certain principles in philoso- 
phy which, carried to their legitimate results, cannot 
be otherwise than subversive of the foundations of 



MEMOIR. 21 

truth. Some of his friends entertained fears, that 
he had wandered from the beaten paths and that 
he would become the firm supporter of the opin- 
ions of the transcendental school. But it is no 
matter of wonder, that a mind, glowing with the 
love of truth, should for a time be arrested by some 
of the specious forms of error. In his case, howev- 
er, it was but for a time. The tendency at this pe- 
riod in his mind was to extravagance in mere meta- 
physical dogmas. But it is evidence of his nice 
discrimination and prudence, that he seasonably 
perceived and corrected this tendency. It was a 
principle with him to gather the seeds of truth 
wherever found. In the transcendental system he 
discovered both truths and errors. What seemed 
consonant with his pre-conceptions of man's spirit- 
ual nature, and the teachings of Christianity he cor- 
dially embraced. Alluding to some of his views in 
a letter to a friend soon after his entrance upon his 
theological course, he remarks, 

" I hope you will not call them transcendental, as T. S. 
does. I cannot make a speech, or say any thing, but it 
all goes the same way with him. It is transcendental- 
ism ! And yet this trans-theology I hate above all 
things." 

The latter part of August he left St. S. and re- 
turned to Cumberland. He spent a few weeks in 
visiting his friends and giving occasional lectures. 
It was very evident, that during his absence his 
mind had acquired much additional strength and 
activity. 



22 MEMOIR. 

HIS THEOLOGICAL COURSE. 

In October 1841, he entered the Theological 
Seminary at Bangor. He commenced his studies 
here with his characteristic ardor. 

A short time after entering the Seminary he 
writes to an intimate friend, 

"I devote four hours and a half to Hebrew, half an 
hour to Mathematics, two hours to German, two to Greek, 
one to Latin and one to French. If you could step into 
my room, you would judge, that I intend to do, or have 
the appearance of doing something, from the number of 
books around me. I feel a literary spirit springing up 
within my soul, that is almost irresistible. I want to do 
so much, and have so little time to do it in, so many 
books to read on so many subjects. I suppose, however, 
I must be content to get knowledge in the old fashioned 
way, little by little, and by close study ; the last of 
which I will most readily consent to, but the other con- 
dition is a hard one. You see I am filled with enthusi- 
asm at the commencement of my course. I hope it will 
not soon subside." 

" I really don't know what news to write you, friend 
D. You always want to know much about "number 
one," and I believe I am not slow in putting in the Is. 
I think with Coleridge, " that an excessive solicitude to 
avoid the use of our first personal pronoun more often 
has its source in conscious selfishness, than in true 
oblivion." Coleridge, by the by, has become quite a fa- 
vorite of mine. I admire his independence of thought, 
of which we see but little at the present day. Then 
there is much depth of thought, real wells from which 
one may draw daily." 

Alluding to the necessity of disciplining the heart 
" as a source of enjoyment and of knowledge,'' he 
says, 

" There are some practical moral conditions necessary 



MEMOIR 23 

to the mind, before it can come into a distinct and vivid 
consciousness of some of the sublimest truths. This is 
particularly the case in relation to many of the truths con- 
tained in Christianity. " If any man will do the will of 
God, he shall k?ioio of the^doctrine." This verse con- 
tains a great moral fact, which is almost entirely over- 
looked at the present day." 

He applied himself so intensely to study, that in 
a few days after the date of the above letter he was 
rendered almost unfit for mental exertion for sev- 
eral weeks, in consequence of a nervous affection 
of the heart. But he soon recovered from its ef- 
fects by a strict regimen and exercise. After re- 
ferring to this in a letter to his friend D, dated 
Nov. 16, he writes, 

" I have become very regular in all my habits even to 
a minute. This, you will say, is good. I hope to perse- 
vere in it; but " to err is human." 

" You give me credit for looking far into human na- 
ture. I wish sometimes I could not look quite so far. 
One does not always find in the heart of man what is 
pleasing. I have often to turn away in disgust from the 
sight, and can only recover myself by looking up to God, 
where there is always something delightful and glorious. 
I admire man as God made him, for he was then like God ; 
and love him, when I see all his godlike powers acting 
in perfect harmony. But to look at him, as we are com- 
pelled to do, with all his powers perverted — supremely 
selfish — the creature of prejudice — controlled by a course 
of wrong habits, it is sickening to the soul. And yet I 
find I am one of these very beings, and what can I do ? 
I can only look up to my Savior and pray to be kept, 
and delivered from myself." 

" When Hook out upon the broad world of mind, and 
see how little regard there is to right, how little to con- 
science — how much to expediency and selfishness, I 
sometimes wonder at the forbearance of God. I am glad 



24 MEMOIR. 

God is not like ourselves. The great mass of mind is 
characterized by the most guilty indolence, or a more cor- 
rect term would be laziness. Indeed, some think that 
this is the principal element of depravity and perhaps 
this is not far from the truth. Men hold to the grossest 
errors, because they are too lazy to examine whether 
they are true or not. They shut out the pure and healthy 
rays of truth, because they are too lazy to take off the 
blinds, which prejudice has nailed to the windows of the 
mind. We are born in the midst of prejudice, and it is 
therefore the more important, that we be on our guard a- 
gainst it. But I must stop this, as you know all of it, as 
well as I do. I find enough of prejudice and indolence in 
myself to make me humble and forgiving towards others." 

The following extract is from a letter addressed 
to a gentleman of St. Stephen, dated Theo. Sem. 
Bangor, Jan. 30, 1842. 

" I do not know as I have spent three months, during 
which I have felt so well satisfied with my progress and 
attainments in every thing but holiness, (and I hope I 
have made some feeble advance in that) as I have this 
term. I have spent my time almost wholly in my room, 
except three evenings a week in religious meetings, 
which I cannot well dispense with. I commenced at the 
beginning of the term with a little too much zeal and had 
to atone for it by a few weeks of sickness. But I trust, I 
have learned wisdom by experience. I am now more 
careful as to my exercise, and by devoting from three to 
four hours per day to that, I am able to accomplish as 
much and even more by way of study. By this means 
my health has been restored, and is now as good as ever. 
I take my exercise at all events, rain or shine." 

" I should like to see my old friends in St. S. again 
very much. I was never in a place where I became so 
strongly attached to the people in so short a time. Your 
meetings I miss not a little. I like the Methodist prayer- 
meetings after all, suck as you used to have, better than 
those of any other denomination. There is some lifb 
to them and not so much formality. I think the Con- 



MEMOIR 25 

gregationalists can learn a good lesson from their Metho- 
dist brethren in this respect." 

" I should really delight to hear our brother S. talk once 
more. It does one's soul good. I often think of him, 
how heavenly, how devoted to his Savior. Prayer is the 
great secret of his piety. How it lifts the soul from earth 
to Heaven. It rolls up the curtain that hides eternity, and 
permits us to behold it peopled with living and bright 
realities. It causes the Christian's heart to sing for joy, 
and his face to shine with the light that beams upon it 
from God's throne. It fills the soul with strong faith in 
God, — his promises, — his providence — his watchful care, 
his undying love. 

'•' How sweet to be allowed to pray 
To God, the Holy One ; 
With filial love and trust to say, 
Thy will, O God, be done." 

" How unspeakable the privilege to pray to our God — ■ 
a privilege procured by a Savior's blood, bought by his 
dying groans. And yet how often do we feel it a task to 
pray ?" 

" What would become of us, if God was as unwilling to 
hear, as we sometimes are to ask ?" 

" Some of those who attended my singing class, I 
understand, have left you and gone to the Spirit Land. 
Death is ever busy. Soon we must take his cold hand, 
and be led down to the silent grave." # ' ' # # 

" The time is come, 1 believe, when parents should 
early dedicate their sons to the great work of evangelizing 
the world. Samuel was thus early set apart for God. 
While iniquity and wickedness are now making rapid 
progress, and Romanism is rolling in upon the Christian 
and heathen world like a flood, all evangelical Christians 
should be awake, and preparing to meet it. There is a 
fearful struggle yet to come — a more terrific contest than 
has ever yet been witnessed ; the lines are fast being 
drawn ; the foes of true religion are ranging themselves 
together, and the various Christian evangelical denomena- 
tions are forgetting their trifling differences, and uniting 
3 



26 MEMOIR. 

more and more against the general enemy. Thus it should 
be — thus it will be, and then our eyes will be permitted to 
see what kings and prophets waited for, but died without 
the sight, — the complete and triumphant reign of Christ on 
earth." 

In the Autumn of 1342, he spent a few weeks in 
Union. From this place he writes his friend D — 
October 15th. 

" My Old Friend, 

I have spent the time here very pleasantly, have 
studied most of the time, have preached my Peace sermon 
once, talked some on the Sabbath.'' 

" Have you seen the last North American Review ? 
How do you like the article in relation to colleges ? I 
think President Wayland has thrown out some most valu- 
able thoughts in that little work which he has published 
on the subject. I think there is need of some reform in 
the present system of collegiate education. I do not adopt 
all the notions of the Reviewer of Wayland, but think as 
a whole they are very good." 

" You speak of the reason why you did not visit me 
again before you took your departure from Bangor. Your 
reason is altogether a satisfactory one. I but love you the 
better for obeying the noble dictates of conscience. I 
would that I had more of that ennobling conscientiousness. 
You acted on the Wiseman's advice. I ask that you may 
always do so. You feel the influence of the early educa- 
tion of your moral sentiments. May you always feel it, 
and may they tinge with glory the horizon of your setting 
.■<un. I admire intellectual greatness. I feel proud to 
hobble along in the pathway, where some mighty genius 
has left the impress of his shining footsteps. I feel- emo- 
tions of grandeur as I gaze upon the man, who scales the 
battlements of Heaven in search of the footprints of his 
God. I feel the gushing of warm feeling towards the 
man, whose heart flows with love, and is touched with 
quick sympathy ; but I look with greater veneration and 



MEMOIR. 27 

deeper feelings of love upon that individual, who inquires 
in every act of his life at the Delphos of his own heart 
for the oracle that shall guide his steps, and yields his 
ready obedience to its sacred response. He, who obeys 
the promptings of conscience, dwells at least in the outer 
Court of Heaven ; there is something of divinity abou: 
him ; and if he holds by prayer a still nearer union with 
the Eternal Deity, he dwells in the council-chamber of 
the Almighty, and his soul reflects the moral lineaments 
of the Creator. We look upon such an one with delight, 
and often feel the truth and force of those words of Cowper, 

" When one, that holds communion with the skies, 
Has filled his urn where these pure waters rise, 
And once more mingles with us, meaner things, 
' Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings ; 
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, 
And tells us whence his treasures are supplied." 

To an intimate friend at Andover Theological 
Seminary, he writes, Dec. 14, 1842. 

" I have thought of writing you every week, but have 
been putting it off until I should have time to write you 
a long theologico-metaphysical epistle on the self deter- 
mining power of the Will, in answer to the one I received 
from you on that subject. But it will be some weeks 
before I shall be through with the examination of it. I am 
not going to discuss the subject in this letter. All that I 
wish to say now is, that so far as I have thought upon it, 
I am convinced that you are in the wrong — are on Armi- 
nian ground ; rather a dangerous place for an Orthodox to 
stand. I, of course, have not got all your sentiments, — 
as a letter but poorly conveys one's thoughts — but I can 
perhaps infer them from the writings of those with whom 
you have taken your stand. I confess, I have not seen 
Coleridge's remarks on the subject, for I have not been 
able to lay my hands on his work. Yet I have read his 
other two works, and have some idea of his system — no: 
a very elevated opinion of his mental system. I believe 
I can understand Coleridge, although he is vastly more 
obscure than Butler, and has a great deal less sense. He 



28 MEMOIR. 

makes pretensions to much more than he is. A really 
great man, a clear-headed thinker, always expresses him- 
self in a much more intelligible manner, and with fewer 
words, than is the custom of Coleridge. Butler could see 
a point clearly, and never fails to make his way to it in a 
straight line, with but few words. But Coleridge often 
does not have a definite idea of what he means to say 
before he starts — but strikes off for something dimly seen 
in the distance ; and though known to be a Hercules by 
his strides, and by the strokes of his club, yet he is now 
listening to hear Apollo tune his lyre — now wandering 
from his path to gather some flowers near by — now 
mounting a hill to gaze at the rainbow and admire its 
colors, and then again, he is musing deeply like a philos- 
opher — and now he begins to look after the object for 
which he first started. It is near, it is brighter, more 
beautiful. He walks towards it, and Anally reaches it 
with his hands full of flowers — his pockets filled with 
minerals, and his cap well supplied with feathers. And 
now, if any one has lost the track, or thinks there might 
be a shorter cut to the object, and will not acknowledge 
him to be a deep thinker — a profound logician, he will just 
notify him that Mr. Coleridge is " in town with a pocket 
full of stones," and he had betier be careful what complaints 
or remarks he makes about obscurity — long sentences, 
ambiguous words, &c." 

To his sister he writes, 

" Bluehill, Dec 15, 1842. 

I feel as though I would sit down with you, and have 
a good talk about the Savior. What a Savior ! How can 
we love him enough ? I believe I do get clearer and 
more exalted views of the Savior, the more I study The- 
ology. He is the great centre around which all the great 
doctrines of Christianity revolve. Take the Savior out 
of the Bible, and what is it worth to us ? Take the Savior 
out of Heaven, and what poor sinner would care about 
going there ? Take the Savior from the Church, and how 
soon would she be like "the pelican of the wilderness, 
and the owl of the desert" ? What Christian can parr 



MEMOIR- 29 

with the blessed Savior ? Who that prays can afford to 
lose his Intercessor in Heaven ? And who, with such an 
Intercessor, will not pray much ? Christ is the all in all. 
He can make a poor sinner sing while racked with pain, 
and while he is stepping clown into the grave, light up his 
countenance with the smile of Heaven." 

<* Bluehill, Jan. 29, 1843. 
Dear Bro. G., 

I have just returned from meeting, a very good one 
too. It is now eight o'clock. I have a violent head-ache, 
but I feel as though I should like to sit down and talk a 
little while with you. And oh ! if I could only kneel 
down and pray with you, as I used to do last summer, 
how refreshing it would be ! I wish I could just step into 
your room, and talk about the Savior, and God's great 
moral government, and providence. These are subjects 
sweet to me, and the contemplation of them fills me with 
joy and peace, that I cannot express. Mr. S. gave us a 
sermon this afternoon on God's law. I got to reflecting 
after meeting on God's law, and oh, what a law ! how good ! 
I felt something as the Psalmist did, when he cried out, 
" Oh, how love I thy law !" That law I would not alter, if 
I could." 

" I have been reflecting on God's providence towards 
me. I did feel as though things might perhaps have 
been ordered better in relation to me. Why could I 
not be permitted to go on with my theological studies ? 
God is omnipotent — has all hearts in his hands, and can 
turn them as He pleases. Why could He not turn the 
heart of some rich indiridual to furnish me the means to 
go on with my studies ? The remark of our Savior in 
relation to the two sparrows sold for a farthing occurred 
to my mind. One seemed to come and light on my finger. 
"Bird of parable, whence and what art thou? Who 
created thee, and wherefore ? Who has taken care to 
clothe thee with warm feathers, has given thee wings 
adapted to thy nature and safety ? Why those eyes, that 
bill, those little legs, those instincts, thy lungs, thy voice ? 
And who cares for thee, to feed thee, to shield thee from 
want, from danger ? And what art thou good for ? One 
3* 



30 3IEMOIR. 

year, perhaps a month, and thou art not, nor do any know 
that thou hast ceased to be, or that thou ever wast." Yet 
art thou something, and God forgets thee not. From his 
bountiful hand dost thou each day feed, and then dost sing 
a sweet song of thankfulness. And will not thy Protector 
and Benefactor be mine ? Shall I be left to want, be for- 
gotten, uncared for, unsupplied, who am to live forever — 
born to a higher destiny ? No. Here is comfort, brother 
G. God will take care of me. I know not what He 
means to do with me ; but no good thing will He withhold 
from me. If it is best for me to go on with my theologi- 
cal course, then He will contrive some way for me. I 
don't know how, but then He will do it. I have had my 
mind much perplexed about this subject for some time. 
I have been asking to be taught what to do. I think I 
hear a voice within my soul, and also a voice coming forth 
from outward circumstances, speaking, return, go lack .' 
If nothing contradicts these intimations, I think I shall by 
all means return. I desire most earnestly to preach the 
Gospel, to preach the truth. I don't know but my mo- 
tives are wroDg, but I hope, if they are, I may have right 
ones." 

" I have felt this evening as though I could rejoice in 
the government of God, that I am in his hands. Nor 
would I for worlds take myself out of them. Is there not 
a joy, brother G., to the soul, when it feels thus ? " He 
shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings 
shalt thou trust." Who would not have God for his friend? 
I went to meeting this evening, thinking I would speak of 
God's law. But the meeting took such a turn that I could 
not very well do it. I did not know what to say for a 
long time. At last that little word " not now," came into 
my mind, and I got up. The house was full. They all 
appeared to me to be very solemn. I traced the " not 
now," from the cradle to Hell, and through Eternity; and 
then, why this " not now ?" Is it from the expectation 
that God will change — or his law — or the terms of salva- 
tion — or your feelings towards God ? I spoke with ease, 
because God helped me. I think there is some feeling. 
I have seen some weep while I have been talking, espec- 



MEMOIR. 31 

ially a few Sabbath evenings ago, when I remarked upon 
the reflections of a soul in Hell ! I remarked that some 
one then might have those very reflections in the world of 
woe. How solemn to have to deal with immortal souls !" 

To the same individual he writes under date of 
Feb. 4th. 
" My Dear Bro. G, 

I have just come in from our Saturday evening 
meeting, and the most solemn meeting which I have 
yet attended. We can say with truth, God is in this 
place. Yes, He is working powerfully upon the hearts 
of saints and sinners. I wish you could have been here 
this evening ; it would have done your soul good. Some, 
who take part in singing, stopped short. The tears flow- 
ed too fast to give utterance to the notes of harmony. Mr. 
S. and myself, with a few others, finished the hymn. It 
is always solemn to be surrounded by weeping sinners. 
The parable of the Prodigal Son was read. I could not 
very well keep my seat. I begged of sinners to return 
to God ; and in speaking, those beautiful lines came to 
my mind, 

" Return, O wanderer, now return, , 
And seek thy Father's face, &c. : ' 

I repeated three verses and sat down. It seemed to 
take hold of their hearts. Now this is just what we have 
been praying for, a long time. We have been waiting, 
and asking, " is there no sweet pity in the skies ?" God 
has heard our prayers. The blessing is being bestowed. 
One of my scholars, who is fitting for college, hopes his 
sins are forgiven. Another, w T ho is fitting for college, is 
deeply anxious. Two others of my school are very 
anxious. I hope to see them all so. Pray for them and 
me. I have a large class of }roung ladies in the Sabbath 
School. They fill three pews. I will try to do them all 
the good I can. I want you to pray for me, that I may 
be faithful, and wise to win souls." 

" A letter breathing the feelings of friendship comes 
to the heart, like cool, sweet waters to the thirsty soul. I 



32 MEMOIR. 

have thought sometimes that I am a complete Stoic, desti- 
tute of all feeling. It seems to me that I have not that 
gushing forth of the soul, which I so much admire in 
others. But after all, I find my happiness lies far more, 
than I am in the habit of supposing, in my feelings. I 
do sometimes feel the mouniain torrent rushing through 
my soul — but then again, I am as calm and unmoved as 
the lofty, craggy mountain, though surrounded by storms 
and tempests, or with all the beauty of the silvery clouds 
and the joyful rainbow. But when I find a friend, whose 
heart sends up kindness like the waters 

" Of the fountain to the wearied traveller, 
With soft and even pulse/' 

I like to linger around it. Few are my friends, but 
those I love. It gives one some relief from despondency 
to know that there are some, who are willing to take him 
by the hand and call him friend. One, who has no feel- 
ings of friendship, which link him to others, no friends in 
the wide world, is like an old oak withered and dead, 
standing upon the mountain top. The blasts, that pros- 
trate others, pass harmlessly by him. He stretches forth 
his barren arms to the passing winds, and though he bends 
not to their influence, yet he gives forth dismal groans, 
which tell of his loneliness and sterility. He is looked 
upon as having something of the majestic, but no one seeks 
for quiet repose, or finds a grateful shade beneath his 
barren branches." 

" Did the class study Edwards thoroughly? There is 
more in that book than in all the theological books I have 
read, except Butler. The shadow of one of their thoughts 
is enough to crush us poor fellows. I have read Martin's 
Review of Tappan's work in the last Bib. Repositorv. 
As a whole it is well done thus far. I think, however, he 
niis'inderstan.ds Tappan at the bottom of page 47 Bib. 
Repos. He says, " the inability to which it is not pest to 
ascribe the non-exertion of a volition is a moral inability." 
Now in my opinion, Prof. Tappan says no such thing, but 
just the opposite. I wish you would just look at the 
passage, and see if I am not correct. I am reading 
Edwards, pen in hand ; and I then take Prof. Tappan's 



MEMOIR. 33 

Eeview, and compare page with page. It is as hard as 
any mathematics I have found yet. I should deny Tap- 
pan's consequences of Edwards' System. He has mistaken 
it altogether, as Martin says of him." 

While at Bluehill, he applied himself with the 
greatest diligence to the examination of some of the 
most difficult questions in Systematic Theology. 
He speaks in one of his letters of devoting six hours 
per day to study, in addition to as many spent in 
teaching. 

It was while here, that the symptoms of the disease, 
which terminated his life, first appeared. 

Early in the ensuing spring he returned to Bangor. 
Application was soon made to him to take charge of 
the High School for Young Ladies. He accepted 
the proposals made, and continued instructor of this 
school for over a year, at the same time retaining his 
connection with the Seminary, and pursuing his 
theological studies, so far as his duties as a teacher 
permitted. To the instruction of his pupils, he 
devoted himself with untiring assiduity. His know- 
ledge of the secret springs of human action, his 
strict and healthful discipline, his promptness in the 
execution of his plans, his constant regard to the 
physical training and the spiritual welfare of his 
scholars, as well as to their intellectual progress, 
rendered his labors as an instructor eminently suc- 
cessful. He always seemed deeply impressed with 
the fact, that thought and influence are imperishable : 
and therefore in putting moral lineaments upon the 
canvass, he endeavored to paint " for Eternity." 



34 MEMOIR. 

We here insert a letter to one of his pupils, which 

shows not less his manner of faithful dealing, than 

his intense solicitude for the spirit's life. 

" My dear pupil, 

I have found a note upon my table, expressing your 
desire to know in what way you shall approach into the 
presence of a holy God in prayer. I rejoice that there 
are any of my dear pupils, who are turning their thoughts 
to so important an inquiry. I am glad you have expressed 
your feelings to me, though I know not who you are. 
Yet it is enough to know that you are one of my scholars. 
I shall make no effort to know who it is — but shall leave 
you to act your own pleasure in respect to it. though it 
would give me great pleasure to converse with you upon 
a topic so full of interest. You say, you have a view of 
your dependence on God, but dare not approach Him — do 
not know how to do so — have often tried — feel forsaken 
of God. If I can say any thing to lead you to the throne 
of grace with a humble and childlike spirit, I will most 
joyfully do it. I rejoice that you feel your dependence 
on God. I only wish you could feel it still more. Let 
the thought of your absolute dependence ever remain in 
your mind. You draw not a breath but by God's permis- 
sion. How is it possible, that you can be more completely 
under the controlling power of any being, than you are 
under his ? It is this, you say, which fdls you with fear. 
But why afraid of God ? If He is a holy and just Being, 
why are you afraid of Him ? Will He deal with you 
contrary to goodness or justice ? Certainly not. Have 
you any thing then to fear from such a Being? If you 
are holy, you certainly have nothing ; but if a sinner, you 
have every thing to fear. It is the consciousness that you 
are a sinner, are unholy, are guilty, that makes you afraid 
of God. And you have reason to fear Him. You are, 
my dear pupil, a great sinner. It is a wonder that God 
has let you live so long. The fact of your guilt is beyond 
denial. Now what are you going to do ? You of your 
own choice have placed yourself in this difficultv. Three 
things are certain in your case. The first is, that you 



MEMOIR. 35 

have broken God's holy law. The second is, God will 
not give up his law, or alter it in the least. Should He 
do it, all Heaven would be clothed in mourning, and every 
harp be unstrung. God would be an object of contempt 
to all holy beings. The third is, you cannot do the least 
thing to repair the mischief you have done. It is wholly 
out of your power. Oceans of tears will not wash away 
one sin. Here you are, a guilty sinner, self-condemned. 
There is nothing which } r ou can do, that will at all relieve 
your condition. You may well inquire, then, how you 
ean approach the great and holy God. You dare not 
come yourself alone and unattended ; nor does any sinner. 
It would be dangerous for you to do so. God could not, 
would not listen to you. The good of his moral govern- 
ment would forbid Him to do it. It is at this point you 
are now standing, and anxiously asking, how can I 
approach this holy God? Let me point you to one, who 
is able to meet your wants, and stand in the presence of 
God for you. " Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh 
away the sin of the world." Christ is just the Being you 
want now. He has died to show to the Universe, that 
God is determined not to give up his law. He has, by 
his death, done as much, and infinitely more to sustain 
good order and holiness in the Universe, than your eternal 
punishment could do. So that it is now possible for God 
to forgive you on certain conditions. These conditions 
are that you ask to be pardoned solely in consideration of 
what Christ has done Christ is your friend. He died 
on purpose that it might be consistent with justice for God 
to pardon you. Go to Him ; tell Him you are a sinner, 
self-ruined and helpless. Make known to Him all your 
requests. He will present them to God for you. He will 
do it much better for you, than you can for yourself. He 
is a daysman between us and God. We have Him as an 
advocate with the Father, to make intercession for us. 
He presents our prayers before the throne of God, not 
imperfect as when they go from us. He represents us 
before the throne and intercedes with God, that our prayers 
may find acceptance with Go I, in view of his atoning 
blood. Is not this just what you need ? Does not this 



36 MEMOIR. 

Savior meet the wants of your case ? Approach then the 
mercy seat of God in the name of Christ, and you will 
find no terrors clothing the brow of the great Jehovah. 
He desires you to draw near to Him. Hear his langaage, 
" Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, 
and I will give you rest." " He that cometh to me, I will 
in no wise cast out." " Ask and ye shall receive." Is 
not this plain language ? Now believe God, and act as 
though you do believe Him. This is faith ; all the faith 
the Bible requires. Take God at his word. But, my 
dear pupil, I must stop here. I have not time to write 
more. Here is the Bib. Repository, which contains a 
very good article on prayer, which I recommend to you 
to read. But the best book is the Bible. That is better 
than any thing else. Read it carefully and may God 
bless you. Your Teacher, 

W. R. P." 

The following was addressed to the Editor, dated 
July 26, 1843. After speaking of his employment 
as teacher of the High School, he very naturally 
alludes to himself. 

" But here I am, writing about school ! school! I am 
all earthly, earthly, earthly ! How much of happiness do 
I seek from earth. I who hope I have been born of 
Heaven, why do I thus linger around earth ? 

••' When the young eagle, with exulting eye, 
Has learned to dare the splendor of the sky. 
To bathe his crest in morn"s empyreal source, 
Will his free wing from that majestic height 
Descend to follow some wild meteors light, 
Which far below, with evanescent fire, 
Shines to delude, and dazzles to expire ? 
No ! still through clouds he wings his upward way. 
And proudly claims his heritage of day ! 
And shall the spirit on whose ardent gaze, 
The dayspring from on high hath poured its blaze. 
Turn from that pure effulgence to the beam 
Of earth-born light, that sheds a treacherous gleam ?" 



MEMOIR 37 

" Oh, how much one needs to converse with Heaven 
and Eternity, in order to live wisely and happily on earth ? 
I wish I could climb above time and dwell in Eternity. 
I have so little time for reflection, that I do not gather 
those clear and large views of God, that produce deep 
piety in the soul. I want to study God — that makes me 
feel that I am a mortal-, and that God is all and in all. 
I shall make but a poor Christian here at best. God 
grant that my powers may be employed in some way to 
glorify Him. I have an earnest desire to live long on earth 
— not because I fear to die — but because I wish to labor 
long in this great field. "When I hear of the desolations 
of the land — the wants of our own country as well as 
others, I want to live a hundred years longer. How long 
does it take to prepare to do good — how poorly prepared, 
and then how short the time to labor ! I wish I could go 
to the West the coming autumn. The West, I believe, 
is the place for me. I think, I should be willing to be a 
Colporteur there, if I can do nothing better. What will 
one do without a heart burning with holy love to God ! 
He may shine like the rainbow, attract the gaze and admi- 
ration of the multitude for a time, but like the rainbow he 
will soon disappear and be forgotten. It is not the rain- 
bow that fertilizes and refreshes the earth. Let me rather 
be the rain, or like the dew, silent and unseen, live to 
bless rather than to be admired." 

As intimated in the preceding letter, he was look- 
ing to the West as the field of his future labors ; nor 
did he relinquish the idea of going thither, till the 
ensuing spring of 1844. The strong apprehensions 
felt by himself and others as to the issue of his dis- 
order induced him to abandon it. He observed, that 
his life must be of short continuance. But his fears 
in a measure soon subsided, and he devoted himself 
to his studies with renewed energy. 

The latter part of August he completed his regular 
4 



38 



theological course at Bangor. He remained there a 
few weeks subsequently, devoting his time almost 
exclusively to writing. A portion of the months of 
October and November, he was employed in preach- 
ing for the Congregational Church and Society of 
West Machias. He afterwards returned to Bangor, 
where he continued as a resident licentiate the re- 
maining part of the academic year, with the exception 
of several weeks spent in New York in June and 
July. 

TRAITS OF HIS CHARACTER. 

The following brief sketch of some of the leading 
traits of his character is from the pen of the Rev. 
Josiah Merrill of Eastport. 

"It was my happiness to be acquainted with our 
departed brother, during the last three years of his 
life, in the course of which we contracted an ardent 
friendship. My opportunities for intimate acquaint- 
ance with him, and a just appreciation of his talents 
and moral worth, were peculiarly favorable. Engaged 
in the same course of sacred study, seated side by 
side in the recitation room, and at the social board, 
often thrown together in our morning and evening 
walks, our minds were brought into continual contact. 
I saw him under a great variety of circumstances, 
and witnessed the development of his mind in all its 
phases." 

" The first of our acquaintance was in the Autumn 
of 1842. when we became classmates in the Semi- 



MEMOIR. 39 

nary. I very soon remarked the prominent traits of 
his mind, clearness, discrimination, vigor of thought, 
and sound logic. These combined with unusual 
decision and energy of character, I regarded as omens 
of great promise." 

" The qualities of his intellect were at that time 
more prominent than those of his heart. Secluded 
from society, he applied himself with untiring assi- 
duity to his books. Obliged to struggle against 
difficulties, which to most young men would have 
appeared insurmountable, he found little leisure to 
cultivate the social feelings. This was owing, not 
to any want of the sympathetic element, but to his 
thirst for knowledge, and close application to study. 
There was a deep fountain of feeling within, which 
needed only to be unsealed by some kindred spirit, 
and its living waters gushed forth with a generous, 
refreshing tide." 

" During the last two years of his life, the estima- 
ble qualities of his heart were more rapidly unfolded. 
He felt the importance of educating his whole soul 
for Christ and his Church. More than once he ex- 
pressed to me his regret, that he had not valued 
mere intellectual greatness less, and true greatness 
of soul more. To the sacred orator he felt that a 
well educated heart is quite as essential as an enlight- 
ened understanding. He longed to have his spirit 
baptized with the dews of Heaven, and to stand 
enchanted on the heights of Pisgah, that he might 
catch from thence the eloquence and inspiration of 
the preacher's themes." 



40 MEMOIR. 

" A letter written soon after his return from New 
York, under date of Bangor Theo. Sem., July 24, 
1845, corroborates the preceding remarks." 

" Well, brother M., I am here again at my old desk, 
writing you a letter, as meek and gentle as a lamb. I do 
not feel elated at all, as you may have supposed, by my 
distinctions. For, first, I have none, and secondly, I 
should be very foolish to be lifted up with vanity, if I had. 
But, my dear brother, instead of feeling at all elevated by 
any thing God has given me, I feel more, day by day, 
how ignorant and mean I am. I can boast of greatness 
in nothing, neither in talent, nor goodness. I wish I 
was great in goodness. I do wish I could empty my heart 
of all pride and vanity and selfishness. There is an 
elevation of thought and feeling, upon which I long to 
stand, where I can breathe a pure atmosphere — have a 
wider vision, and feel a calmness and blessedness of soul 
that nothing earthly can disturb. Let us, my dear brother, 
strive to be great in goodness. We will leave the men of 
this world to strive for the glitter of mere intellectual and 
worldly greatness. That will shine but a few brief hours ; 
but goodness will be radiant through Eternity, and like 
the sun, will bless while it shines." 

" I love to write to you, brother M., because you have a 
soul — you have some sentiment. I believe, we do dis- 
grace our intellectual powers too much. We make the 
mind a mill-horse, to grind all day, without permitting it 
to pluck the fresh food, or even look upon the green face 
of nature. Our sensibilities slumber in coldness. We 
do not think enough of feeling, and idolize thought. 
Thought will never ascend the heights of the sublime, 
nor muse upon the lovely and beautiful, unless winged 
with strong feeling. I feel that I have abused my nature, 
in that I have not cultivated enough of feeling to give a 
noble activity to the intellect. To live in a dronish, — 
half asleep and half awake state of existence, is to live 
below our origin, and unworthy of ourselves. Oh, if I 
could only sit at the feet of the Savior, and catch that 
gentle sympathy that beamed from his eye, that self-sac- 
rificing benevolence that swelled his heart, that rectitude 



MEMOIR. 41 

of purpose, which gave him power to move calmly forward 
in the path of duty, it would be blessed. How differently 
should I view earth, then ! With what tenderness should 
I love man ! How willing to make sacrifices ■ I am 
conscious, brother M., that there is a field of intellectual 
joy, that I have not yet entered. It is given only to the 
pure in heart to see God. Ah ! that is what I want. 
There are intellectual visions given to such, that I have 
had only a glimpse of. I feel like one, who has heard 
notes of strange but rapturous melody faintly breaking 
upon the ear, and longs to listen to the full swelling chorus. 
But where shall I go to find the full perfect harmony ? 
Oh, let it not die. I would listen till every star had 
poured forth its song, and everything of earth had become 
vocal. If we were pure in heart, should we not see God 
in every thing? Where others see nought that is lovely, 
should we not be delighted with beauty ? Ah, this world 
is not so destitute of what may feed the soul, if we were 
only pure in heart." 

" Brother M., can we not commence a higher and 
more blessed state of existence? While we are none the 
less beings of thought, be more the children of feeling ? 
To what heights of vision might it not carry us ? I mean 
not to travel out of the path of the truthful, but walk 
with our eyes open to the ten thousand objects of beauty, 
of love, of sentiment. I feel grateful that our holy 
religion furnishes this aliment to the soul. How different 
would be the effect of our preaching — the power of our 
eloquence, if we could drink more largely at the fountains 
of feeling. This we must do if we would be joyous our- 
selves, and lift others to sublimity of thought. I have at 
times feelings, which come like the swelling tide of the 
ocean — but I cannot utter them. There is no ear to hear 
them — no heart that pulsates with mine. There are only 
a few, who can understand them. But I cannot always 
keep them hushed within my own bosom. Some of them 
have escaped from the end of my pen, when I am writing 
you. I am glad that some hearts live that can feel also ! 
As ever your friend and brother, 

Wm. R. Prince." 
3* 



42 MEMOIR. 

" His rapid progress in this respect was obvious in 
his writings. He had a natural taste for close, se- 
vere reasoning. Butler, his favorite author, he had 
carefully studied and analyzed, which undoubtedly 
cherished this prominent turn of mind. But as he 
gave himself up to the impulse of feeling, his style 
became less metaphysical and more fervid." 

" In the division of his subjects, his mind instinct- 
ively grasped the strong points, and arranged them 
in a lucid, and climacteric order. He conceived 
vividly, and wrote vigorously. His sentences were 
like an array of strong men. Disdaining the tinsel 
of a gaudy rhetoric, he aimed at clearness, distinct- 
ness, and force. He endeavored to unite the chief 
excellencies of the preacher's style, brevity and per- 
spicuity. Every word was erased which did not 
contribute to one of these ends. His love of simplic- 
ity seemed a part of his nature, and was quite as 
apparent in his manners, and in his whole character 
as in his writings." 

" His character as a Christian was remarkably 
amiable and attractive. Very few have been more 
ardently attached to the great doctrines of Christian- 
ity than he. Those most intimately acquainted with 
him will not soon forget, how his eye would kindle and 
his countenance radiate, when these were the theme 
of conversation. His was the religion that exalts 
man by abasing him. The cordial belief of those 
humbling facts, on which the whole system of Christ- 
ianity rests, exalted in his view the glory of redemp- 



MEMOIR. 43 

tion by Jesus Christ. His theology was not a 
collection of dry bones and skeletons, but a breathing 
form of celestial brightness, instinct with life, and 
beauty and power. The secret of this was a deep 
and fervent piety. He had felt in his own soul the 
subduing and refining influences of the doctrines he 
so strenuously defended. He had been slain by the 
Law, and made alive by the Gospel. The former he 
loved, because it is the flaming sword of the Spirit 
to drive the sinner to Christ ; the latter, beeause it 
binds up his wounds, pouring in the balm of hope 
and consolation." 

" There was a sweetness and kindness in his man- 
ners, which strongly endeared him to many hearts ; 
and the more so, as we felt it to be the overflowing 
of a Christian heart." 

" There are many of his young friends and 
acquaintances in Bangor, who can never forget his 
faithful counsels, and instruction, and some, we doubt 
not, will remember them with joy through Eternity. 
But he was most faithful to those with whom he was 
most intimate. The friends, with whom he was 
brought into daily contact, will revert with deep 
interest to those scenes of social intercourse, when 
he gave free expression to his religious sentiments. 
His lucid exposition of the distinguishing doctrines 
of Christianity — his clear and convincing exposure 
of error — his alluring representations of the Christian 
life — his mildness and self-command when opposed, 
and his affectionate earnestness in pressing the claims 



44 MEMOIR. 

of duty, will not soon be erased from their memory." 
" As a friend he was tender, generous and true. 
Though familiar and affable with all, there were few 
to whom he could open all his heart, and those were 
the friends he had proved. To them he was confid- 
ing and unreserved, and he expected the same 
confidence and frankness in return. He felt with the 
poet that, 

" Friends grow not thick on every bough, 
JNor every friend unrotten at the core j" 

and therefore, while he was select in his choice, he 
was faithful and unchanging. To those kindred 
spirits his friendship was an invaluable treasure. 
They cannot soon forget him, for in his death they 
have experienced an irreparable loss.'' 

" During the last two years of his life, he was 
rapidly ripening for Heaven. This was more espec- 
ially manifest within a few months before his death. 
He looked forward to the distressing operation before 
him with emotions of hope and fear. He felt it to 
be more than probable that he should not survive it. 
The future was all uncertain. But he was prepared 
to meet it with calmness and submission. A few 
days before his departure for New York, he remarked 
to me, that he did not dread the operation at all, and 
had little anxiety as to the issue. This was not, 
apparently, a constrained submission to inevitable 
fate, but a calm and holy trust in God." 

" No one could feel more keenly than he the 
blasting of all his earthly hopes. More than once he 



MEMOIR. 45 

remarked to me, that his only desire to live was to 
build up the Church of Christ, and win souls to Him. 
This had long been the great object of his ambition. 
He had marked out for himself a course of usefulness 
on earth ; and when dark clouds were settling 
around this bright goal of his anticipations, it cost 
him many a struggle to submit. But his faith was 
that which overcomes the world. He kissed the rod 
and meekly bowed to his Father's will." 

HIS LAST DAYS. 

" He, the young and strong, who cherished 
Noble longings for the strife, 
By the road-side fell and perished, 
Weary with the march of life." 

His disease had become so troublesome, that for 
two or three Sabbaths previous to the anniversary 
exercises of the Seminary, he was unable to attend 
church, except in the evening of August the 24th. 
This day he seemed to be much refreshed, and 
especially in the evening ; and no one, who knew 
nothing of his complaint, would have supposed that 
he was so great a sufferer. The Monday following 
he rode to Old Town, the distance of twelve miles, 
in company with some friends. He returned, evi- 
dently having enjoyed the excursion, and without 
much apparent fatigue. After keeping his room for 
the greater part of two or three weeks, and having 
now a brief respit from pain, he gathered fresh 
courage and strength. In every thing that diverted 



46 MEMOIR. 

his attention he found relief. His great power of 
concentrating his thoughts upon any given subject, 
and his firm trust in God at this time were remark- 
able. He would seemingly forget himself in the 
interest which he felt in it. A wise provision is this 
in the human constitution, and in the economy of 
grace, by which the heaviest afflictions may for awhile 
be kept in abeyance, and the soul refresh itself in 
the revealments of faith. 

In the evening he attended the anniversary exer- 
cises of the Seminary Association. He had been 
unable to attend the rehearsals and to take the lead 
of the choir, as was his custom for two or three years 
previous, on similar occasions. The chorister, how- 
ever, requested him to assist this evening in the 
performance of some of the chorus pieces, which he 
cheerfully did. He sung with his usual animation 
and power, but evidently with the deepest emotion, 
as he seemed to catch the full spirit of the words, 

" Loud hallelujahs to the Lord 
From distant worlds where creatures dwell, &c." 

Next followed the piece entitled, " Oh the com- 
passion of our God," with its noble chorus, " We 
bless the dear Redeemer's name," one of his favorite 
selections. 

The following lines were suggested by his impress- 
ive appearance, and kindly sent us by Mrs. E. L. C. 
of Bangor. 



MEMOIR, 47 

" And still his soul hath music ! Still with full 
And thrilling note he lifteth up the voice 
Of praise to God ! Oh, sure some angel kind 
Hath been sent forth to whisper in his ear 
A mighty consolation — raise his thoughts 
Above the darkened earth, and fix them fast 
Upon the glorious — the incorrupt." 

" Blessed be God ! Through waters of deep woe 
His hand can lead his chosen ones unharmed, 
And bring them more than conquerors at last 
To that inheritance which cannot fade." 

" So let thy cheerful voice once more resound 
Within these walls, strong-hearted sufferer ! 
A little while, and with the glorified 
Thou shalt pour forth the song of victory 
O'er sickness, sin, and all thy mortal foes.- 
Then brighter glory shall be on thy brow, 
Which even^here with its calm, peaceful joy, 
Seems a fit emblem of the peace of Heaven." 

These were truly prophetic. In one short month 
he passed away to the beatific vision, and to join the 
song of the redeemed. This was the last of his 
public performances. Blessed are they, whose last 
acts on earth are those of praise, and whose song 
ceases here only to be renewed in Heaven. 

He was able to attend most of the exercises of 
the two succeeding days. During one of these he 
was observed to be engaged in conversation with the 
R,ev. Mr. T. An individual, who sat near him and 
remarked this, wondered how he could be so cheerful 
with such a prospect before him. It was thought, 
that of course the subject of conversation was foreign 
to himself. It was subsequently ascertained that at 
this very time, he was speaking of the disease with 
which he was afflicted. 



48 MEMOIR. 

Wednesday he visited some friends and conversed 
with much freedom and vivacity. Thursday he was 
able to walk about the city. In the evening he met 
a large number of friends at Mr. Fs. He was much 
fatigued, though he kept up very good spirits. The 
next day, Friday, he was unable to leave his room. 
His sufferings returned, though he had intervals of 
quiet. About nine in the evening, a few friends 
called to see him. He was glad to see them, and 
conversed for about an hour with much animation. 
There was, this evening, an expression of counte- 
nance indicative of the deep workings of the spirit 
within. It was that of calm hope, of patient endur- 
ance. There was the radiant smile of faith. Those 
present will not soon forget that short interview. 
He was so calm, so resigned, that it was matter of 
subsequent remark, and of pleasing recollection. 

Saturday he was removed from his room at the 
Seminary to the house of his physician. Though 
he suffered much, he did not complain. When I 
inquired concerning his religious feelings, he said, he 
feared his calmness was more the result of " philos- 
ophy than grace." He had not that high enjoyment 
which he thought desirable. Still he could trust with 
all his heart in God. He was able to read part of the 
time some of Chalmer's Works, and Cheever's Lec- 
tures on Bunyan's Pilgrim. The latter was a rich 
source of comfort to him in his last days. He loved 
to linger around the Delectable Mountains, for from 
thence he could catch a glimpse of the Celestial 



MEMOIR. 49 

City. He passed the Sabbath quite comfortably. 
In the evening he conversed with a friend for some 
time, and with much interest upon the Divinity of 
Christ. This was a doctrine which he always 
defended with much ability. The Divinity and the 
Atonement of Christ were not mere dogmas with 
him. They were great substantial truths upon 
which his hopes were founded, and in which he 
rejoiced. 

For several days after this, he continued pretty 
much as he was on the Sabbath. Saturday noon, 
Sept. 6, he had a very severe paroxysm, which 
affected his whole system. He found quick relief, 
however, by the agency of mesmerism. For several 
weeks past he had resorted to this, and it uniformly 
relieved him. No other remedial agent could have 
been attended with such signal success, leaving at 
the same time the action of his mind unimpaired. 
His severest attacks of pain readily yielded to it. 
This relief was not owing to the mere exhaustion of 
the paroxysm ; for when he passed some time with- 
out being mesmerized his sufferings continued unabat- 
ed, and were only removed by resorting to it again. 
By this means many of his last days were passed 
with a good degree of comfort. The following Sab- 
bath he was cheerful and happy, notwithstanding the 
severe shock which his system received the day 
before. It was soon decided that he must go to 
New York. It was considered unsafe longer to 
delay a surgical operation. He expressed some sur- 
5 



50 MEMOIR. 

prise when told of the arrangement, but cheerfully 
consented to it. He had hoped that it would be 
delayed for one or two months. During Monday 
and Tuesday he was quite free from pain. He read, 
occasionally sung, and conversed with those who 
called to see him. He was subdued in spirit. There 
was a child-like submission, which told of the sanc- 
tifying process God was carrying forward in his heart. 
Thursday morning he took an affectionate leave of 
his friends in B., and attended by Dr. Deane and the 
writer of this, took the boat for Boston. His inti- 
mate friend and classmate, Rev. Josiah Merrill, 
accompanied him as far as this place. There were 
others on board from Bangor, who contributed their 
quota of kind wishes and services to render his 
passage comfortable and pleasant. He arrived in 
Brooklyn early Saturday morning with much less 
fatigue than he had anticipated. The next day was 
rainy, and he was much depressed in spirit as well 
as body. I attended church during the day, leaving 
him in the care of his physician. During the after- 
noon he requested him to hand him a sermon, which 
he had written from the text, " I shall be satisfied, 
when I awake, with thy likeness." He read most of 
it aloud, and was much strengthened by the perusal 
of it. Early in the evening, as he lay upon his bed, 
he gave full vent to his feelings in humble and earnest 
supplication. There was much brokenness of spirit, 
and a great struggle of his faith. All his powers 
seemed to rally for the contest. He prayed that God 



MEMOIR. 51 

would be with him in this his hour of trial, and that 
he might be permitted to live to preach the Gospel. 
He bore in affectionate remembrance his friends and 
former pupils, that God would remember and bless 
them. 

The next morning he was remarkably cheerful. 
The burden, which pressed so heavily upon him the 
day before, was removed. 

He was able to write as follows to his father. 

" Brooklyn, Sept. 15, 1845. 
My Dear Father, 

Here I am again in N. Y. at my old boarding place, 
Mrs. B's. We started at eleven o'clock on Thursday 
morning from Bangor on board the Penobscot. We had 
a very fine passage to Boston, arriving there at five o'clock 
in the morning. We went immediately to Mr. H's, 
where we remained till half past three ; then took the 
cars for N. Y. by way of Norwich. I had a very com- 
fortable time on, much better than I expected. We arrived 
here Saturday morning. My leg was somewhat swollen 
below the knee, in consequence of the journey, I suppose. 
This morning I feel quite refreshed ; and while brother 
N. and Dr. D. are gone over to N. Y. city to call on Dr. 
Mott, I am amusing myself by writing you a line. I 
thought you would be very anxious to hear from me." 

" I do not know as yet how soon the operation will be 
performed. Dr. M. will decide that when he sees me. I 
do not expect Dr. D. will be able to put me complete^ 
into the mesmeric sleep. I have been expecting all along 
to have it performed without being put to sleep. I can 
endure it. I think it will not be so very painful. At all 
events, others have endured it, and I think I can. God 
will give me grace to sustain me, and I hope He will be 
near me in this my hour of trouble, and deep affliction. 
I hope I am prepared for life or death. I am in God's 
hands, and my prayer is, let his will be done. Do not, 



52 MEMOIR. 

my dear father, permit your mind to dwell too much on 
my case. It will do you no good to feel an undue anxiety. 
It is all God's doings, and I wish you joyfully to leave 
me in his hands. He does not willingly afflict, nor 
grieve the children of men. Like as a father pitieth his 
children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him. I feel 
great confidence that God will sustain me, and will yet 
spare my life to " preach Christ and him crucified." If 
I can be permitted to preach with one leg, I shall consid- 
er it a great privilege." 

" I received the kindest attentions while in Bangor. 
My old scholars were very kind to me." * * * * 

" The last day I was in Bangor, I had callers all the 
time from ten in the morning till ten in the evening. 
Perhaps there were seventy-five or more. My table 
also was well loaded with fruits and flowers. Such 
sympathy is very grateful to one sick. It is sweet to have 
kind friends. It renders earth quite a Paradise. Mrs. 
B., a very kind lady of the Pilgrim Church, has called on 
me, and wishes me to call on her for any thing 1 need. 
Perhaps God will send some more angels of mercy to see 
me, so that I shall lack no good thing. The lady with 
whom I board is very kind, is used to having the care 
of the sick, and is willing to do any thing for me. Thus 
does my Heavenly Father take care of me. Why should 
I distrust his goodness ?" 

" Remember me wMi much love and affection to my 
venerable grandfather. I ask an interest in his prayers 
in this my hour of affliction. He is fast ripening for 
Heaven. Heaven doubtless has more attractions for his 
soul than earth. Ah, I hope we shall all meet in Heaven. 
It will be but a few days. For us to die is gain, yes, in- 
finite gain. This letter of course is to mother as well as 
to you. Kiss my little brothers and sister for me. My 
kind remembrances to all my friends in C. May God 
bless you all. Your affectionate son, 

William." 

Tuesday he was quite comfortable, and diverted 
his mind somewhat by reading and conversation. 



MEMOIR. 53 

The next day he addressed the following letter to 
the Rev. J. Merrill. It was the last that he wrote. 

" Brooklyn Sept. 17, 1845. 
My dear brother, 

To avoid the ennui of an afternoon, all alone to my- 
self, I have requested brother N. before going out, to lay 
my writing apparatus before me, that I might in some 
way amuse myself. So here I am, stretched out nearly 
on my back, with my feet in a chair, and a little round 
table before me, scribbling to you as well as I can a few 
lines. Any thing that engages my thoughts serves to 
relieve the tedium of a sick room. I thank my kind 
Heavenly Father, that I am able to write. It is a real 
luxury. I got very comfortably through to N. York the 
day after I left you. I suffered some, but not near as 
much as I might." 

" Dr. Mott and Dr. P. came over on Monday to see me, 
and made an examination of the tumor by putting a probe 
into it some three or four inches. . It was not very pain- 
ful. The object was to ascertain whether there was liquid 
matter in the tumor or not. There was none. Dr. M. is 
strongly inclined to think it is connected with the bone. 
He says, I must go over to N. York to have the operation 
performed, so that he can have me near him. I shall 
probably go over there next Saturday, and, I think, shall 
have the operation performed on Tuesday. I do not 
know but I am somewhat impatient to have it done ; the 
sooner the better. It will be settled then. I think I can 
endure the operation without a word or a groan. I do 
not dread it at all. How strange ! May Heaven grant 
me strength and calmness. I feel that I am having the 
prayers of many friends put up to Heaven in my behalf. 
May God answer them in mercy. I have not rested well 
for the three past nights, have scarcely closed my eyes in 
sweet, sound sleep for four days. Yet I stand it remark- 
ably. I do not know what keeps me up. My spirits are 
none of the best part of the time. Yet sometimes I am 
very cheerful. I feel the need of animating conversation. 
I may feel better after the operation." 
5* 



54 MEMOIR. 

" I have faith in God. This is indeed, brother M., a 
sore affliction to me ; stopped, deprived of a limb, and 
again involved in debt, a trouble to friends, and many- 
hours and months of loneliness appointed to myself. 
But yet, with the grace of God, I can endure all this, and 
even much more. My case is not as bad as it might be. 
But why does God afflict me ? Ah ! I hope it is to make 
me better, and to teach me many important lessons, that 
I cannot otherwise learn. He will afflict me no more than 
is necessary. It is all in kindness. I only pray that his 
afflicting hand may be to bless me, that I may become a 
holier Christian, and a more faithful preacher of the ev- 
erlasting Gospel. What God intends to do with me, I 
know not. The Lord do what seemeth to Him good. I 
only regret at present, that I cannot rejoice in my afflic- 
tion. Perhaps this is impossible in natura rertim, until 
the cloud is overpast. I believe as yet I have felt but little 
repining at God's dealings ; God grant that I may not. 
" Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we 
not receive evil ?" Pray for me, my dear brother, that 
my strength ma) r be as my day is. Give the more grate- 
ful thanks to God, that you have health given you, and 
such bright prospects before you. Be, my dear brother, 
a faithful minister of the Lord Jesus. -Watch for souls, 
pray much, and you will do much good. Prayer was 
what made Payson so useful. It can do the same for us. 
I hope we both may long live to win souls to Christ." 

" I know not what I shall be fit for after the operation ; 
perhaps for nothing. But God will take care of me, and 
if He has nothing further for me to do on earth, He may 
be pleased to take me up to Heaven, that angels may 
see what a sinner He can save. I am a great sinner, 
and if I ever get to Heaven, it will be through the 
abounding grace of God. Oh, how blessed it is to be 
saved by faith in Jesus Christ ! What a fearful pros- 
pect before us, if it were not for the cross of Christ ! 
Ah, the Cross is a theme worthy of the golden harps of 
angels and the anthems of Heaven." 

" I wish you would write me soon. We will write 
you immediately after the amputation, if we can, to let 



55 



you know how it goes with me. Kemember me with 
much affection to your beloved P. May God bless you 
both with long life and happiness, and may you do so 
much good on earth, that your names shall ever be held 
in sweet remembrance in Heaven. 

Your affectionate brother, 

VVM. R. PRINCE." 

Friday he was much refreshed by a visit from 
his friend, Rev. Mr. Thompson of the Tabernacle, 
and referred to it afterwards with evident pleasure. 
Saturday he was removed to New York City. 
He seemed to enjoy the short ride, and conversed 
part of the way with cheerfulness. He was, how- 
ever, much fatigued on arriving at his lodgings in 
Houston-street. He slept some during the follow- 
ing night. The Sabbath he passed with a good de- 
gree of quiet, engaging in his devotional exercises 
with his usual interest and warmth. In the evening 
he was in excellent spirits. Monday morning he 
submitted to a second and very thorough examina- 
tion of his diseased limb. Wednesday afternoon 
was appointed as the time for the operation. So 
far from being disheartened by the near approach 
of so trying a scene, he evidently gathered strength 
to endure it. In the latter part of the afternoon, 
Rev. Mr. Temple, late Missionary at Smyrna, called 
to see him. As Mr. T. was about engaging in 
prayer, he asked him if there was any thing in par- 
ticular for which he wished him to pray. He re- 
plied, " that 1 may have entire resignation and for- 
titude to bear what is before me." 



56 



The following extracts of a letter from Mr. Tem- 
ple give a detailed account of this and a subse- 
quent interview. 

"I had not the happiness to know him till my 
son mentioned his case to me as a stranger in N. Y., 
far from all his relatives and anticipating a painful 
and dangerous surgical operation, the result of which 
was considered very doubtful. He was anxious to 
introduce me to him, hoping that a visit from me 
might, with the divine blessing, cheer and refresh 
his spirits in those trying circumstances. I most 
cheerfully complied with his wishes, and went with 
him to the room, where your brother was confined." 

" He seemed very happy to see me, and I was 
not less happy to find him in so calm and tranquil a 
state of mind, with the immediate prospect of part- 
ing with his limb, if not with his life ; for though he 
expressed a stong desire to live, that he might preach 
the Gospel, it was still manifest that he had serious 
apprehensions of not long surviving the impending 
operation." 

" We had a long and to me very affecting conver- 
sation, in which I endeavored to suggest such con- 
siderations as I thought would soothe his mind, and 
sustain and strengthen his faith in the promises and 
faithfulness of our Savior, who is a true, sincere, 
sympathizing and Almighty Friend, and a very 
present help in the time of trouble. He listened 
with child-like docility to all my remarks, and seem- 
ed to find consolation and support in looking to Jesus, 



MEMOIR 57 

to whom it was my principal aim to direct his mind, 
as the author and finisher of our faith." 

" Before I left him, I proposed uniting in prayer, 
and to this he most cheerfully assented. I endeav- 
ored with all my heart to commend him to God in 
his present trials, and in the petitions he seemed 
most heartily to join, his hands being clasped upon 
his heart, his eyes closed, and his countenance ex- 
pressing the earnest devotion of his spirit. It was a 
scene of no ordinary interest to me. When I rose 
from prayer, he pressed my hand very warmly, and 
with eyes moistened with grateful tears, as I trust, 
to our Savior who has opened for us this new and 
living way of access to the Father, thanked me 
again and again for my visit, expressing the hope 
that it might soon be repeated. I then left him with 
my sympathies not a little awakened, and, as I trust, 
with sincere gratitude for such an opportunity to 
suggest to an afflicted Christian brother those prec- 
ious promises of the Gospel, which can impart strong 
consolation to the mind under all the trying circum- 
stances of life, and most of all at the near approach 
of death." 

" On the following day it was my privilege to 
visit him again. On this visit I found him in an ap- 
parently still more tranquil and devout frame of 
mind than on the preceding one. The following 
day had been appointed for the amputation of the 
limb, and as the result was considered so doubtful, 
which was not concealed from him, he seemed to 
feel called to stand with his loins girt about as op?- 



58 MEMOIR. 

waiting for the coming of his Lord. It was to me, 
and still more to him, a most solemn moment. He 
was more communicative than he had been on the 
preceding day, and seemed to be clinging with af- 
fectionate faith, though not with the full assurance 
of hope, to the Lord our Righteousness. There 
was a tenderness of spirit, and a melting of heart 
about him, on this occasion, that was very edifying. 
He was evidently looking to Jesus, and trusting in 
Him alone for his salvation ; but conscious at the 
same time, that he was a sinner, and knowing the 
deceitful and desperate wickedness of the heart, he 
was not without fears lest his hope should prove in 
the end to have rested on the sand. This, how- 
ever, was not a fear that hath torment, but only such 
as the Apostle Paul exhorts all Christians to indulge, 
lest, after having the promise of entering into rest, 
they should seem to come short of it." 

" He seemed to feel resigned to the will of God, 
whatever it might be, though still desirous to live, if 
this would be for the divine glory. I thought his 
hopes prevailed, though he evidently had strong ap- 
prehensions that he might not survive the painful 
operation. Our interview was closed, as the former 
one had been, with prayer, in which he seemed to 
join with even more earnestness than he had done 
the day before. I wish I could recall the language 
he used on that occasion, but I well remember that 
it was the language of filial confidence in God, 
breathing out the feelings of one, who is looking for 



MEMOIR. 59 

the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life, 
and in hope of that eternal life which God, who can- 
not lie, promised before the world began. I left 
him with the hope that he would survive the ampu- 
tation of his limb, but with the consoling assurance, 
that, if he did not, to die would be gain to him." 

He was greatly strengthened in faith by these in- 
terviews with Mr. T. He rose above his fears, and 
joyfully commended himself to the care of his Heav- 
enly Father. Early in the evening of Tuesday he 
had a long conversation with Dr. D. He spoke 
freely of his own feelings and circumstances. He 
had closely examined his heart and felt that Christ 
was his portion. "As for death" said he, "I have 
no fear of i£.'" He alluded to the means necessary 
to his freedom from embarrassment in case he should 
survive the operation. "You are rich," said Dr. D. 
"I would not" he replied, " exchange my situation 
with any human being.'" 

He was at times during the night in severe pain, 
but was soon quieted by the efforts of his physician. 
Wednesday morning he was in cheerful spirits. — 
About ten I read to him the consoling words of our 
Savior, " Let not your heart be troubled : ye believe 
in God, believe also in me," and the precious prom- 
ises which follow these. We united in prayer. His 
petition was short, humble, and fervent. He renew- 
edly sought the divine aid to sustain him in what 
awaited him. He sung with me in a soft and subdued 
tone the sweet hymn, which follows. 



60 MEMOIR. 

" Rock of Ages ! cleft for me ! 
Let me hide myself in Thee! 
Let the water and the blood 
From thy wounded side that flowed. 
Be of sin the perfect cure ; 
Save me Lord and make me pure." 

" Should my tears forever flow, 
Should my zeal no languor know, 
This for sin could not atone, 
Thou must save, and thou alone ! 
In my hands no price I bring, 
Simply to thy cross I cling !" 

" While I draw this fleeting breath. 
When my eyelids close in death, 
When I rise to worlds unknown, 
And behold Thee on thy throne, 
Rock of Ages ! cleft for me ! 
Let me hide myself in Thee '." 

At his request I handed him his " Daily Food." 
He examined its contents for a long time. He 
turned the leaves at the following passages. " It is 
good for me that I have been afflicted, that I might 
learn thy statutes." 

" Yes, I have found ? ti9 good for me 
To bear my Father's rod ; 
Afflictions make mc learn thy law. 
And live upon my God." 

"Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver 
thee, and thou shalt glorify me." "O Lord, correct 
me but with judgment: not in thine anger, lest 



"Dear refuge of my weary soul. 
On Thee, when sorrows rise — 
On Thee, when waves of trouble roll. 
My fainting hope relies." 



MEMOIR. 61 

For some time after this he was evidently engaged 
in prayer. He remarked to me respecting the oper- 
ation, "I have not the least dread of it." About 
twelve Dr. P., the Principal Assistant Surgeon, came 
in to make some arrangements for the operation, 
which did not in the least disturb him. I gave him 
a small potion of morphine, which had no apparent 
effect. A few minutes before one Dr. Mott entered. 
He greeted the Dr. with a cheerful smile, who was 
surprised to find him so calm. "Wonderfully com- 
posed," " wonderfully composed," he exclaimed to 
one near him. I left him and walked out accord- 
ing to his request. He went through the whole oper- 
ation, which required about an hour, with the great- 
est composure. A large number of physicians and 
medical students were present, and were astonished 
at the exhibition of such fortitude. 

At five I was again by his bed-side. When I 
inquired how he was, he replied, "very comfortable." 
There was great danger of his dying immediately 
after the amputation in consequence of nausea of the 
stomach. This, however, was in a measure checked, 
and early in the evening we began to cherish the hope 
of his recovery. He conversed quite freely during 
the evening, and expressed much gratitude that he 
went through the operation so well. He slept at 
intervals, and awoke refreshed. Soon after midnight 
he appeared to be much exhausted. Dr. M. came 
in about one, and placed him in a different position, 
which afforded him much relief. He had no severe 
6 



62 MEMOIR. 

pain, though he suffered much from exhaustion and 
thirst. He was so easy, that he said in his quiet 
manner, " 1 am almost well." He alluded some- 
time afterwards to the trying scene through which he 
had passed, and remarked, '■'What an agony I should 
have been in while on the table, had it not been for 
the hope of happiness hereafter.'" Shortly after he 
spoke of the love of Christ for two or three minutes 
with much warmth of feeling. His weary spirit was 
resting in his grace. Early in the morning he re - 
marked, that he had a more quiet night than for some 
time previous. He requested me to write to some of 
his friends of the success of the operation. 

Dr. Mott came in again about six. with whom he 
conversed respecting the operation for several minutes 
with a clear and strong voice. After this he said but 
little. The relapse came on not long after, and he 
failed rapidly. About the last remark he dropped was 
to Dr. Deane, " My sufferings have been light, oh 
hoiv light, compared with the sufferings of the Sa- 
vior." Near ten the physicians and students with- 
drew, no one remaining with me but my uncle F. He 
grew worse. I spoke to him, calling him by name ; 
but he was unable to speak and appeared unconscious 
of what I said. Dr. D. was sent for, and soon re- 
turned. He continued to breathe with less difficulty 
till about half past ten, when he quietly departed.* 



* Dr. Mott, in a letter to the Editor, thus speaks of the nature and ex- 
tent of his disease. 



MEMOIR 63 

I left immediately with his remains for his native 
place, where I arrived on Saturday. The painful 
intelligence had not preceded me. It was a scene 
of no ordinary interest, as those, who had known 
him in his early years, and had beheld him in the 
strength of his opening manhood, now assembled 
to look upon his prostrate form. From this scene 
I went to mingle my tears with those of bereaved 
parents and relatives. They had anticipated the 
result from the tone of his last letter. The cup 
indeed was bitter, but the grace of God sufficient to 
sustain. In the afternoon of the following Sabbath 
his funeral was attended by a large number of 
relatives and friends. An impressive sermon was 
preached by the Rev. Joseph Blake, Pastor of the 
church of which he was a member, from Rev. 14 : 13, 



" It was one of those cruel forms of malignant disease of which it has 
fallen to my lot to witness such frequent instances, in the origin and 
progress of which man's agency and interference are in the great major- 
ity of cases of no avail for evil, or for good. There is, therefore, no spe- 
cific remedy for this form of disease, which is known technically as os- 
teo-cosshaloma, and which in your brother's case commenced in the per- 
iosteum, or fibrous lining of the thigh bone, and in its progress involved 
in malignant, or cancerous degeneration, all the surrounding parts, giving 
rise to an immense tumor comprising a large portion of the thigh. In its 
further progress it would have become rapidly an ulcerated, fungous, 
probably bleeding cancer, the irritation attending which terminates life 
with terrible suffering after the lapse of a little time, even in the strong- 
est constitutions." 

''The certainty, absolute as certainty can ever be in human prognosti- 
cations, of so speedy and awful a fate alone justified the mutilation 
necessary to the total removal of the disease — the only remedy which 
admitted any chance of ultimate recovery — and which has in more in- 
stances than one been followed by an entire restoration to health." 

" God in his wisdom ordained that your brother's life should not be 
saved by human means, and although the operation, terrible in itself, 
was borne by him with a fortitude surpassing any thing of the hind 1 
ever witnessed, still his vital forces, weakened by confinement and suf- 
fering, were not sufficient to bear the shock, and repair the injury neces- 
sarily inflicted in the removal of the disease." 



64 MEMOIR. 

" Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from 
henceforth ; yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest 
from their labors ; and their works do follow them." 

" Our beloved brother has gone to his rest — to his 
reward. For a little season he is lost to us, who 
mourn his untimely departure. Our hearts would 
fain have detained him to drink with us life's ming- 
led cup ; to cheer us by his winning smile and gentle 
words; we would fain have listened again to his 
trumpet tongue, proclaiming the Savior he loved : 
but every murmur is hushed, when we contemplate 
those brighter scenes now opening to his enraptured 
vision, and when by faith we anticipate that joyful 
reunion of spirits, where pain and disease, and the 
pangs of separation are known no more." * 

Sabbath evening Oct. 5, Dr. Pond delivered a ser- 
mon in the Hammond-street church, Bangor, rela- 
tive to his character and the causes of his death, 
from which the following extracts are taken. 

" Some ten or twelve years ago, a young man in 
the Western part of this State, having been called, 
as he hoped, into the Kingdom of Christ, felt it to 
be his duty to commence a course of study, prepara- 
tory to the great work of preaching the Gospel. He 
had no rich and powerful friends to encourage him 
in the enterprise. So far from this, his path was be- 
set with formidable difficulties, especially those of a 
pecuniary nature. But nothing discouraged, he 

*Rev. J. Merrill. 



MEMOIR. 65 

went forward. Almost entirely unaided, except 
from his own resources and exertions, he prepared 
for college. He went through college, reputably 
and honorably. He entered the Theological Semi- 
nary ; and went through that — sustained all the way 
by the consciousness that he was in the path of duty, 
and that he was qualifying himself, in the best man- 
ner, for usefulness in the church and the world. — - 
He receives the accustomed license to preach the 
Gospel, and commences, with high promise, the ex- 
ercise of that profession, on which his heart has so 
long been set. Fields of usefulness are opening 
before him, inviting him to enter, to sow the seed 
and reap the harvest. But just at this interesting 
moment — the crisis of his own and his friends' hopes 
— he is smitten down. An incurable disease, which 
had long been doing its work in his system, now de- 
velopes itself, and he is summoned away to be here 
no more. How dark and trying this event ! How 
mysterious, and to human view, unaccountable! Ver- 
ily, God in this instance is seeming to say to us, 
" What 1 do, thou knowest not now." But let us not 
distrust, for a moment, the perfection of the Divine 
government. God has done no more than what He 
had a perfect right to do. He has done nothing 
inconsistent with His infinite wisdom and goodness. 
What is dark to us is all light to Him ; and he will 
make it light to us hereafter. He will show us how 
this event stood connected with His own glory, and 
the best interest of His church — with the highest 
6* 



66 



good of our departed brother, and of all that circle 
of Christian friends who have been tried and afflict- 
ed in his afflictions. Surely then, we will not dis- 
trust the perfection of the Divine government. So 
far from this, we will say with the Psalmist, " The 
Lord reigneth." 

The disease which proved fatal to Mr. Prince was 
probably an inherited scrofulous affection. On ac- 
count, perhaps, of some slight injury received in 
the leg, many years ago, it took its seat of operation 
there. It is supposed now to have been a bone dis- 
ease from the first ; — that the tumor in the flesh was 
rather the result of a diseased bone, than that the 
bone became diseased in consequence of the tumor. 
Some three years ago, the swelling and hardness of 
the limb was quite perceptible, and began to awaken 
anxiety as to the result. More than a year ago, 
some of the best surgeons in the country were con- 
sulted, who expressed the opinion that amputation 
would be necessary, and that probably he would not 
survive the operation. Still he continued to be 
cheerful and active, engaged in his studies, and 
preaching occasionally, as he was able. 

For the last three or four months the disease had 
been making more rapid progress. The limb be- 
came exceedingly swollen, and the whole nervous 
system seemed to be affected. At times, his suffer- 
ings were intense, and would have been much more 
so, but for the unremitting exertions of the physician, 
in whose family he boarded, and to whom all the 



MLMOIR. 67 

friends of the deceased are under great obligations.* 
It was arranged that he should go to New York, 
and submit to the required surgical operation, in Oc- 
tober ; but so rapid was the progress of the disease, 
and so painful withal, that it was found necessary 
to hasten his departure. His principal surgeon at 
New York, having decided that amputation would 
be necessary, he went through the operation a week 
ago last Wednesday. He met it with his accustomed 
fortitude and resignation, in the perfect possession 
of his faculties, and without a struggle or groan. 
There was no occasion of his being held or confined, 
and he declared, when the whole was ended, that 
the pain was by no means equal to that which he 
had previously endured. The loss of blood was in- 
considerable, and so comfortable was he, after the 
operation, that hopes began to be indulged of his 
doing well. But it soon appeared that his nervous 
system had received a shock, from which it might 
never recover. There was a sickness at the stomach, 
a faintness of heart, which indicated that his end 
was nigh. Still, he passed the night with a good 
degree of comfort, and was able to converse cheer- 
fully and pleasantly the next morning. It was found 
impossible, however, to restore the ebbing current of 
life, and at about half past ten o'clock on Thursday, 
he fell asleep. His reason, perhaps faltered at the 
very last, but his end was eminently peaceful and 

*Dr. Deane. 



68 MEMOIR. 

satisfactory. His remains were brought to his na- 
tive place (Cumberland) on Saturday ; and on the 
last Sabbath — a week ago to-day — in the presence 
of a vast concourse of mourning relatives and 
friends, they were committed to the house of silence, 
there to await the resurrection of the just. 

The facts above stated have been received from 
the most authentic sources ; and I have been the 
more particular in narrating them, because I know 
that they will be interesting to his numerous friends 
here, and because I wished to correct any unfounded 
statements which may possibly have been in circu- 
lation. 

On the whole, I think we all have reason to be 
satisfied as to the circumstances and manner of Mr. 
Prince's death ; — satisfied not only on the ground 
of its being a dispensation of God, but because, so 
far as human instrumentality was concerned, every 
thing seems to have been ordered wisely and well. 
Convinced that he could live but a few weeks as he 
was, and those, too, weeks of intense suffering, and 
that there was a possibility, in case of amputation, 
that his life might be spared ; I suppose he did right 
to submit to amputation. The operation was per- 
formed with the utmost care and skill, and every 
thing was done which human wisdom and kindness 
could do to restore the exhausted powers of life; 
but in vain. His time had come, and he bowed 
submissively to the will of his Heavenly Father. 
And when we consider the probability that, had his 



MEMOIR. 69 

life, after the operation, been prolonged, the disease 
might have speedily broken out again, so that he 
would have lived, not to be useful, but only to suf- 
fer ; we rest satisfied in the conclusion that it was a 
merciful providence which removed him. It was 
obviously better for him to depart. Enjoying and 
manifesting the most comforting- evidence that his 
peace was made with God, it was better for him to 
lay down his diseased, mutilated, aching body in the 
dust, and go to the possession of that mansion of 
eternal rest, which had been prepared for him before 
the foundation of the world. 

Of the character of the lamented Prince, it is 
needless for me to speak particularly. With his 
manly form — his open, cheerful, intellectual counte- 
nance — his kind disposition — his cultivated taste, — 
and his interesting social powers, you were well ae- 
quainted. He possessed not only a capacious mind, 
but a mind duly balanced and remarkably well pro- 
portioned. His intellect was acute, vigorous, in- 
quisitive, active ; his sensibilities were sufficiently 
deep and strong; while his energy of will, his firm- 
ness of purpose, his power of endurance and perse- 
\ r erance, were all but invincible. Although his 
course of study, both in College and in the Semi- 
nary, was too often interrupted by the necessity of 
exertion, in order to acquire the means of going on ; 
yet he always maintained a respectable rank as a 
scholar. For the last few years, he made evident 
and rapid progress. His mind was acquiring a de- 



gree of furniture and discipline, which gave promise 
of the highest usefulness. 

For many years, he sustained more or less — in 
one capacity or another — the office of teacher, — in 
which he was uniformly successful. Many are the 
youth in this city and elsewhere, who have been 
under his care, and who will never forget his invalu- 
able instructions. Many with aching hearts and 
tearful eyes have heard the story of his death. Not 
a few, we trust, have been savingly benefitted under 
his influence, and will be recognized as his crown of 
rejoicing, in the day of the Lord Jesus. 

But as hinted before, the great purpose of his life 
was to preach the Gospel. To prepare himself for 
this, he had toiled and studied through many a weary 
year. The desire of this was among the last that 
he ever expressed. And this is a work for which 
nature and grace had admirably fitted him. His 
talents, as a public speaker, were decidedly above 
the ordinary level. His powerful voice, his almost 
faultless elocution, the freshness and vigor of his 
thoughts, set off by the energy of his manner, must 
have rendered him not only an attractive, but an 
effective preacher. Indeed the specimens of preach- 
ing which he furnished were of an high order, and 
were full of promise. 

My acquaintance with Mr. Prince commenced 
about four years ago ; since which time I have had 
abundant opportunities to become acquainted with 
him, not only as a man, a scholar, and a candidate 



MEMOIR. 71 

for the gospel ministry, but as a Christian. He 
understood the great doctrines of the Gospel ; and 
he loved and defended them. In circumstances of 
temptation — when weaker minds were blown away 
—he remained stable and firm. His Christian char- 
acter was not fitful and fluctuating, but uniform and 
consistent. Ever since he made a public profession 
of religion — which was about fourteen years ago — 
through his whole College and Seminary life, he 
has been known as a truly spiritual man — one that 
feared God and wrought righteousness. Nor was 
his life, though short, devoid of usefulness. His 
example was one steady, shining light. As a teacher 
in the Common School, the Academy, and the 
Sabbath School — he had an opportunity of influenc- 
ing a great many minds ; and his influence was 
always on the side of truth and holiness. 

For years, Mr. Prince's diseased limb was a stand- 
ing trial to him — the severity of which perhaps 
none of us are in circumstances fully to appreciate. 
Yet he met it with a cheerful submission ; and in 
my last conversation with him, the day before his 
departure, he freely spoke of it as one that had been 
overruled for his good. He acknowledged that he 
had had too much of worldly ambition in his char- 
acter — the desire of distinction as a scholar and a 
minister, and that the effect of his trial had been 
to subdue this feeling, and bring him more entirely 
into the spirit of the Gospel. 

With a like cheerful resignation, united with the 



72 MEMOIR. 

firmness and fortitude of a martyr, he submitted to 
the surgeon's knife, and went through an operation, 
which, though he hoped it might save him, he well 
knew might prove suddenly, perhaps instantly, fatal. 
He conversed freely on the subject of dying with 
those about him ; assured them that he had no fears 
of death ; that his only desire to live was to preach 
the Gospel, and thus serve his Redeemer; but that 
if Christ had nothing further for him to do on the 
earth, he was ready and willing to go. 

Thus died, in the morning of his days, and (to 
human view) in the very dawn of his usefulness, our 
departed, lamented friend. It is but a little while 
since we saw his face and heard his voice in the 
midst of us ; but we shall see that face and hear 
that voice, no more. That his family connexions, 
his numerous friends, and indeed the whole church 
on earth, have met with a great loss, I need not say ; 
but what earth has lost, Heaven has gained ; and 
thus it is, my friends, that Heaven is continually 
gathering up to itself all that is holy and lovely 
from the earth, leaving nothing for the last fires to 
consume but what is base, and vile, and sinful, and 
incorrigible." 



HIS QUALITIES AS A PREACHER. 



BY REV. GEORGE SHEPARD. 



In giving some of my impressions of Mr. Prince as 
a preacher, it seems necessary to speak of his endow- 
ments and gifts of mind, heart and person, in their 
promise, rather than in their performance: for he 
did not live long enough to establish a character and 
reputation as a preacher ; but he did live long 
enough to raise high expectations of what he would 
do, if permitted to enter on the work, and speak in 
the name of his master. This was the earnest de- 
sire of his heart — the only object for which he 
wished to live, — namely, that he might preach Christ 
and him crucified to his fellow men. Rarely in- 
deed does the instance occur, in which this desire 
comes so near to an all absorbing passion, as it did 
with him. To us it was a mysterious dispensation, 
which cut him down at the very entrance of the 
field : — mysterious, because there is so much work 
waiting to be done, and he seemed fitted to accom- 
7 



plish, through the divine blessing, so great an amount 
of good. 

There was manifestly a foundation, in the very 
structure and tone of Mr. Prince's mind, for the 
employment of an effective style of address. His 
mind was capable of accurate discrimination ; at once 
placing apart things which belong apart. Thus, by 
analyzing, and looking at the elements of subjects, 
he gained a clear view and a strong, grasping appre- 
hension of them ; so that he could handle and be 
sure of them, and do something toward making them 
palpable and influential on the minds of others. His 
mind was constructed also for order ; was capable 
of a quick, clear, and suggestive arrangement of 
topics. There appeared in it no faculty nor love of 
confusion. There was in connection, the power of 
rigid, firmly-linked argumentation ; and he was fond 
of indulging in this. But it was not a mere cold, ab- 
stract quality: it was instinct with energy and life ; 
pervaded and freshened as it was by intense emotion. 
There was within a deep fountain of feeling; la- 
tent fires that were easily stirred ; earnest sympa- 
thies, ever ready to gush forth. With him it was 
religious feeling, the fountain was sanctified — the 
heart warmed and quickened by the flame of holy 
love. 

These endowments existing originally, which so 
admirably fitted him for success as a public speak- 
er, Mr. Prince very carefully trained and developed 
with a reference to this use of them. Very rarely 



MEMOIR. 75 

indeed, does a student come along on to the theolog- 
ical stage, who gives so much attention to rhetori- 
cal pursuits and exercises. He seems to have re- 
solved (and his resolves were of an iron make) to 
reach, if possible, a high point of excellence and 
influence as a public speaker, — by all means to avoid 
being a tame, dull, monotonous utterer of feeble 
thoughts in feeble language. 

His efforts to this end were attended with marked 
success. He made over his style, putting into it the 
vigorous, stirring and impulsive elements, so indis- 
pensable to a manly and emphatic enunciation. He 
seemed to know what was wanted for this work, and 
how to gain the requisite qualities. He effected also 
great changes in his voice ; giving to it depth and 
fullness of tone, and range of expression ; and then 
acquiring a perfect mastery over it, so that he could 
vary it at will, according to the sentiment to be ex- 
pressed. 

Mr. Prince was an example of what may be done 
in acquiring manner — the right sort of manner for 
the pulpit. He studied the past models, and the 
living masters of eloquence ; he resorted to the rules, 
and above all to the great common sense principles 
of the art ; and by the use of his own judgment, and 
by a diligent exercise and practice, he attained to 
ease and naturalness, as well as force, of utterance. 
By these labors and attentions, we believe he nearly 
doubled his power of doing good from the pulpit. 
"Would it not be well, if more would do like him ; 



76 



and also pay attention to the organs of communica- 
tion, and be able to speak in a way that will reach 
and open the ears of the people, — in a way adapted 
not to defeat, but rather to accomplish the important 
ends of preaching. 

It would have been pleasant to have been permit- 
ted to see Mr. Prince, standing, where he panted to 
stand, in the sacred place, there to exert for the good 
of others, the powers God had given him, and which, 
under God, he had so cherished and brought out. 
We should have been glad to have witnessed the 
further developments of those powers, and especially 
the results they might have achieved. We might 
have been disappointed ; still, we think, he would 
have sustained the expectations he had raised, and 
proved himself a very able minister of the word of 
God — a preacher of the right spirit, shape and stamp. 

Mr. Prince would have succeeded better than most 
in commanding and holding the attention of the 
people : indeed, he showed his ability in this respect. 
Perhaps in nothing, do preachers differ more than in 
this power of keeping the attention. When some 
are preaching, the auditory seem to be in a state of 
wandering vacuity, or are quietly sleeping. Others, 
they are compelled to hear ; they may hate what 
they hear ; but hear they must. As to sleeping, 
they may as well think of doing it in an earthquake, 
as under such appeals. Those who heard Mr. 
Prince, were struck with this effect upon them, and 
spoke of it as remarkable, that he could so grasp the 



MEMOIR 77 

attention. The reason of this effect was, that there 
was interesting matter, which the hearers felt con- 
cerned them, and which went directly home to their 
case. The style too was skillfully adapted to the 
same end. The boldness of it, the varieties of it, 
the sententious strength, and jogging roughness of 
it, now and then, would keep no terms with a dronish 
inattention. The delivery also was in good keeping 
with the sentiments and style. It was earnest, au- 
thoritative, emphatic ; with an utterance and action, 
significant and commanding — adapted to make 
strongly the impression that he believed the truth 
and felt the importance of what he said. 

Mr. Prince also showed that he would have been 
a preacher of a solid, instructive character. This 
might have been inferred from the very structure of 
his mind. It certainly cannot be doubted after the 
specimens he has given us. He always sought a 
basis — a place to stand on ; he would therefore 
make it his first object to lay the foundation — the 
firm substratum of truth. He was eager to discuss 
something ; to reason out and establish some truth. 
He wanted something he could feel and be sure of — 
some substance, or some sort of object ; ever refusing 
to be satisfied with mere blowing out wind or beat- 
ing the air. This was a very promising feature in 
the style of his preaching ; a feature which we do 
not commonly find so fully developed at so early a 
stage. The fact shows the earnest and business-like 

character of Mr. Prince's mind and the correctness 

7 # 



78 MEMOIR. 

of his judgment as to the best mode of presenting 
truth. It is not the light, flowery, or hortatory dis- 
course which will do the most good, though it may 
be the most popular ; but the discourse that is thor- 
oughly excogitated, made weighty by thought and 
truth, well wrought and shaped, and put firmly* to- 
gether. 

Mr. Prince showed that his preaching would have 
been characterized throughout by a very clear, bold 
manifestation of the truth. He loved the truth ; 
the truth had taken strong hold of his own mind, 
and he bad great confidence in it as a means of op- 
erating upon the minds of others, and he had no 
confidence in any thing else. He therefore made it 
stand forth in a way which admitted of no mistake 
or doubt, as to what he meant or what he aimed at ; 
and it was a very stupid mind that could be wholly 
indifferent before his preaching. It is well when the 
truth is thus honored and confided in ; when the 
preacher casts aside all mere tricks and devices for 
an effect, and makes the divine word the instrument 
of all the reformations or achievements he contem- 
plates. 

Whilst Mr. Prince could impart instruction, and 
feed the mind, he could also move the sensibilities. 
His preaching was both solid and awakening. Had 
he lived, we think he would have proved himself, be- 
yond most, an arousing preacher. This also follows 
perhaps from what has been said of the character 
of his mind ; his own deep fountain of emotion 



MEMOIR. 79 

and the style of his address. When we say he was 
an arousing preacher, we do not mean merely, that 
he could greatly rouse the sensibilities. There are 
those who can do this, who can make a mighty tu- 
mult amongst the passions, and yet can implant no 
permanent impression in the soul. Mr. Prince could 
indeed awaken the passions — there was an earnest- 
ness — a simplicity, and a graphic sketching well 
adapted to this end. But he did not stop here, but 
went further — went deeper, and stirred the con- 
science to its office of conviction and reproof. Here 
we look for the essential element of the preacher's 
power. If he greatly fails here, he fails altogether. 
Mr. Prince succeeded in this region — showed, for 
one so recent in the work, unusual fidelity and skill 
in dealing with the conscience — unusual power in 
applying and in-fixing the truth. 

Perhaps there was a harshness and seventy oc- 
casionally, which could only agitate excessively, and 
create repulsiveness if employed on some minds. 
We have heard of some, whose nerves could hardly 
sustain the strong assailment of his preaching. 
Time doubtless would have modified any excess of 
this kind, and carried still higher the excellencies 
which were so admirable. 

Had Mr. Prince been spared, we believe, he would 
have filled honorably and most usefully the of- 
fice he looked forward to. He preached a few 
times in this city and vicinity and the memory and 
impression of those labors still remain. Rarely has 



80 MEMOIR. 

a whole community been so deeply affected by the 
death of a young man, as was this, by the death of 
Mr. Prince. Many loved him, all respected him, 
and sincerely lamented that one of so high promise 
should have been removed so soon. 

Theological Seminary, Bangor, July 25. 1846. 



SERMONS. 



SERMON I, 



THE IMMUTABILITY OF THE DIVINE LAW. 



It is easier for heaven and earth to pass than one 
tittle op the law to fail. — Luke 16: 17. 

The law referred to in this remark of the Savior 
is the moral law. In distinction from physical laws, 
it relates to the conduct of intelligent and account- 
able beings. It is the great rule of action, which 
God has given to his creatures, and by which He 
proposes to govern the universe. This law is con- 
cisely expressed in the words of Christ, " Thou shalt 
love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with 
all thy soul, and with all thy mind." 

The text teaches that God's law is immutable. It 
is a strong and bold assertion of its immutability. 
Every thing else, in comparison with it, sinks into 
insignificance. God values this law more than He 
does the whole material frame-work of nature, and 
will make every thing else subservient to it. Our 
present object is to show that God's law is immu- 
table. 



84 THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 

I. This is evident from its value. 

God's law works well. It has always worked 
well. It is adapted to the faculties of moral beings. 
Their natures are such, that no other law would 
reach their case — would secure their rights, their 
liberty, their happiness. Moral agents are convinced, 
that true happiness is always to be found in the path 
of rectitude, and no where else. Any law, requir- 
ing them to do what they know to be wrong, would 
be contrary to their nature, and if obeyed, would be 
their ruin. God's law, therefore, is precisely the 
thing for the government of moral agents. When 
obeyed it secures permanent blessedness. It as- 
sumes, therefore, in comparison with any other sys- 
tem of laws, a value proportionate to the highest 
and eternal happiness of all intelligent creatures. 
Its value out-weighs the whole universe. For the 
interests of all accountable beings are involved in it. 
God sets a high value upon the physical worlds, 
which He has made. He has exhibited in them 
many of his glorious attributes. The heavens de- 
clare his glory, and the firmament showeth his handi- 
work. For the invisible things of Him from the 
creation of the world are clearly seen, being under- 
stood by the things that are made, even his eternal 
power and Godhead. This is the reason why God 
attaches value to the material worlds. They reflect 
upon the souls of intelligent beings the features of 
the Infinite Mind. They are lights hung up in the 
heavens to guide them in their pathway to God's 



THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 85 

throne. But God values them just in proportion to 
their importance. The laws by which they are gov- 
erned, He does not value so much as his moral law. 
They are not worth so much. For, there are no 
rights invested in them. Rights are not the prop- 
erty of matter ; they exist only among free, moral 
agents — in the world of mind — to which God's moral 
government is limited. Any changes in the material 
worlds will not, in themselves, affect the rights of 
rational beings. The physical laws of nature may 
be altered, or annihilated at the will of the Creator, 
without impairing the happiness of any accountable 
creature. But it is not so under God's moral gov- 
ernment. To change laws here would be a very 
dangerous experiment. The interests at stake are 
of too momentous character to allow of alteration. — 
An earthly monarch may make great changes in the 
territories of his realm. He may improve and beau- 
tify them, — may level hills — lay out roads — turn 
the course of rivers — build manufactories, increase 
his navigation — send out his fleets to every quarter 
of the globe. These he may do with safety. But 
when he comes to annul laws, in which the interests 
of his subjects are involved — laws by which their 
rights and happiness are secured, he undertakes a 
most hazardous work. They would take up arms 
against such a monarch. The value of such laws, 
and the interests they secure are so great as to forbid 
any change. 

God has made a law for his subjects. He has 
8 



bb THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 

published it throughout his empire. He has written 
it in the heavens above, and upon the earth beneath. 
He has entered the sacred precincts of the soul, and 
engraven it upon the heart, that every creature may 
clearly understand it. By this law the rights and 
happiness of every obedient subject are secured. 
Under it they enjoy the greatest possible amount of 
freedom. If all would obey it, peace would reign 
in every world — joy in every heart — the song of 
gladness would encircle the universe, be echoed 
from world to world, sweeter than the music of the 
spheres, louder than the voice of many waters. 
This law, involving the well being of God's whole 
moral government, is of incalculable value. To al- 
ter it, therefore, would be an infringement upon the 
rights of all moral beings. It would be to cut off 
their hopes of happiness, sacrifice their interests, de- 
stroy their bliss. What safety can there be under a 
government where great principles are abandoned ? 
Where laws affecting the welfare of beings in all 
worlds are given up? What expectation could they 
have of security ? What of justice? Who could 
tell but innocence would be sacrificed on the altar 
of violence? Let God give up his law, what sus- 
picion and astonishment would fill all worlds ? 
What shrieks of woe would reverberate around the 
universe ? Let Him refuse to execute its penalties, 
and what rebellions would break out in every part 
of his empire? The waves of insurrection would 
roll up to Heaven, and shake down the pillars of his 



THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE- 87 

throne. Let the law be changed, and what discord, 
breaks in upon the chorus of Heaven ? Let it be 
annulled, and every song would be hushed, every 
angel's harp be unstrung — all Heaven bathed in 
tears — the universe hung round with mourning, — 
all nature would sob with grief. 

Is it wonderful, then, that God's law is immuta- 
ble 1 Can it be expected, that He will ever sacri- 
fice the rights and interests of the whole, that the 
rebellion of a few may go unpunished ? That He 
will annul a law of such value? No. For it is 
it is easier for heaven and earth to pass than one tit- 
tle of the law to fail. 

II. The immutability of the divine law may be 
argued from the sacrifices God has made to sustain it. 

He has made great sacrifices to impress upon his 
moral creatures the absolute immutability of his law. 
This he has done, 

First, by the sacrifice of the transgressors of the 
law. 

The notice, which God has taken of the viola- 
tions of his law, shows very conclusively his feel- 
ings in relation to it. The very first act of rebellion 
that broke out in his dominions, was visited with 
condign punishment. The angels who kept not 
their first estate, He cast down to Hell. Their 
lofty rank and powers could not shield them from 
the penalty of his violated law. 

When our first parents rebelled in Eden, why did 
He curse them and our world, which He had made 



68 THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 

so beautiful and lovely ? The wretched transgress- 
ors of his law are hotly pursued by the flaming 
sword of justice. They are turned out of their 
happy home ; and the cold frown of a cursed world 
greets their exit. 

When men had made themselves vile, and God 
saw that the wickedness of man was great in the 
earth, then came the waters of the deluge, rolling 
their desolating surges over all that was beautiful 
and glorious in this world. " The fountains of the 
great deep were broken up, and myriads of guilty 
creatures were swept away with the besom of de- 
struction. And why ? why did the earth's huge 
pillars break, and all its massive bars give way ? 
Why did God consign this beautiful world to de- 
struction, mingle all the elements together, and 
make every law of nature work for the general 
ruin ? Because man had sinned. He had rashly 
dared to violate the law ; and God was determined 
that not one jot or tittle of it should fail." He thus 
made an example of the immutability of his law. 
Sooner than alter or annul it, He would destroy the 
whole race of man, and drown the place of his abode. 

And when the Bacchanalian songs and horrid 
blasphemies of the cities of the plain went up to 
heaven, with what fearful ruin did his wrath fall 
upon them ? Fire from God out of heaven was 
rained upon them, and their smoke went up as the 
smoke of a furnace. They are set forth as an in- 
stance of the immutability of God's law, suffering 



THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 89 

the vengeance of eternal fire. They are great bea- 
con-lights to warn men to beware how they trans- 
gress his law — to convince them that it is immutable, 
and that not one jot or little of it shall in any wise 
fail. 

Why was it that so many plagues gathered over 
Egypt ? Why were its rivers and waters turned 
into blood ? Why did the frogs come up and cover 
it ? Why did the hail sweep away their cattle ? 
Why did darkness, that could be felt, settle over 
the land ? Why was thp destroying angel sent forth 
to slay all the first-born of Egypt? And Pharaoh 
said, I have sinned against the Lord your God. 
Here was the cause. They had violated the law, 
and God's judgments fell heavily upon their guilty 
land. 

After Israel had departed, and the enemy said, I 
will pursue, I will overtake, I will draw my sword, 
my hand shall destroy them, God looked through 
the pillar of cloud and of fire — took off their chariot 
wheels — blew with his winds, and the sea covered 
them ; they sank as lead in the mighty waters. 
How easily does God make the elements of the 
material world become the swift ministers of his 
justice. How easily do the physical laws, so stable 
and unalterable in themselves, give way and bend 
to the vindication of the moral law ! How little 
value does God attach to them in comparison with 
his moral code ? When this is at stake, nations 
are before Him as grasshoppers, as the small dust of 
8* 



90 THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 

the balance. The Canaanites for violating his law 
were swept away by his power. And even his own 
chosen people, as soon as they forsook his law, were 
given over to destruction. Jerusalem, the beloved 
city— Mount Zion, God's holy dwelling place, are 
forsaken, as soon as they become the abode of 
sin. They are delivered to the sword of the enemy. 
Zion is laid in ashes, — Jerusalem is left desolate, be- 
cause they kept not God's law. 

What mean all the judgments of God sent upon 
the Jews? What mean*the ruins of Babylon? 
The graves of nations scattered all down through 
successive ages of the world ? They are the hand- 
writings of God's providence, declaring in fearful 
characters, that He will not tolerate the least devia- 
tion from his law. And if thus nation after nation, 
standing upon the very pinnacle of power and fame, 
have been hurled into the grave of oblivion, because 
they kept not God's law, and if He has once de- 
stroyed the world, and sacrificed almost the whole 
race of men, will He now set aside his law ? Will 
He ever give it up ? Make no account of sin ? Ac- 
commodate Himself to the rebellious desires of the 
wicked ? This is impossible. For it is easier for 
heaven and earth to pass than one tittle of the law 
to fail. 

God has shown the immutability of his law not 
only by the sacrifice of the transgressors of it, but 
Secondly, By the mission and death of his son. 
Christ himself declares, that he came not to destroy, 



THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 91 

but to fulfil the law. His great mission to our 
world was not to proclaim that the law was altered, 
nor that it could be annulled. It was to vindicate 
it in the eyes of all intelligent beings. It was ex- 
pressly to show that the law is holy, just and good ; 
and can never be given up. Hence to convince 
men of this, He himself obeyed the law perfectly. 
Amid trials and temptations greater than ever assail- 
ed any other being, He yielded to it perfect obedi- 
ence. The language of which was, that God is 
worthy of supreme love, and universal obedience. 
Christ, by his example, showed how all holy beings 
regard the divine law. His life was a declaration to 
men, that the law is good, and ought not to be 
changed. 

But Christ did more than this, to show the immu- 
tability of God's law. He died to redeem us from 
the curse of the law, being made a curse for us. 
And what was the import of his sufferings ? Was 
it taking our part against the law ? Did Christ, by 
his death, join in our rebellion, and say that we are 
right, and the law unjust? His death was a procla- 
mation to all worlds, that the curse of the law is 
strictly just, such as became his Father to threaten 
and execute. The death of Christ is the most de- 
cisive expression, that God has ever given of the 
immutability of his law. Rather than abandon it, 
not even his well beloved Son could be spared the 
agonies of the garden, nor the ignominious death of 
the cross, when he took the sinner's place. 



92 THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 

It was not because God was unrighteous or 
disposed to hold his creatures bound by an unjust 
law, that Christ died to relieve them. It was not 
that the goodness of God's nature was so limited, 
that He could not find it in his heart to forgive sin- 
ners, without the death of his Son to move his com- 
passion in their behalf. 

If ihe law had been unjust, God would have laid 
it aside. No Mediator would, then, have been 
necessary. God did not want a heait to do us jus- 
tice, nor did He lack compassion. His heart ever 
overflowed with infinite kindness. The death of 
Christ, then, was not to induce God to do us justice, 
nor to move Him to compassion. That would have 
been an infinite reproach to God. For what, then, 
did Christ die ? It was to do honor to the divine 
law, which we by our sins had dishonored, — to show 
to all moral beings that the law is just, holy and 
good — that God was right in instituting such a law 
— that our rebellion against it is wholly wrong — that 
we richly deserve to have all its penalties executed 
upon us. He thus magnified the law, and made it 
honorable. By his death He testified, that the law 
cannot be repealed, and that God has no intentions of 
doing it. This was the most perfect demonstration 
God could give of the immutability of his law. He 
showed, that He would make any sacrifice rather 
than abandon it. He would sooner give up his own 
Son, of more value to Him than all worlds, and all 
intelligent beings, than repeal any part of his law. 
So immutably holy and just is it. 



THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 93 

III. God has shown the immutability of his law, 
by threatening the destruction of all the wicked. 

He has declared that He is angry with the wicked 
every day. He is so, because they keep not his 
law. He does not destroy them in a moment ; yet it 
it is not because He looks upon them with any fa- 
vor or love. The violators of his law may for a 
time be at ease — the tabernacles of robbers may 
prosper, and they, that provoke God, be secure. 
But God has not given up his law. The wicked 
may prosper and make calculations of future happi- 
ness; but God has made no such calculations. 
The light of the wicked shall be put out ; his own 
counsels shall cast him down. He shall be driven 
from light into darkness, and chased out of the 
world. God has declared that the wicked are re- 
served to the day of destruction — that they shall be 
brought forth in the day of his wrath. Woe unto 
the wicked, it shall be ill with him ; for the reward of 
his hands shall be given him. The wicked shall 
be turned into Hell, and all the nations that forget 
God. Upon the wicked He shall lain snares, fire 
and brimstone, and an horrible tempest; this shall 
be the portion of their cup. Such declarations on 
the part of God, show the retributions He will inflict 
rather than alter his law. He will sooner sacrifice 
all his rebellious creatures than disannul it. 

IV. The immutability of the divine law is evident 
from the nature of God. 

God is a perfect Being. In each of his attributes 



94 THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 

He is infinite. His omniscience fathoms, and clearly 
comprehends every possible event. So that, in no 
actual, nor in any possible circumstance of his gov- 
ernment, can He act from ignorance. He can never 
make a mistake. From his very nature He can and 
must know every possible condition in which beings 
can exist. Knowing this, his perfect wisdom would 
enable Him to select laws suitable to their natures. 
His holiness and justice would prompt him to make 
right laws ; and his immutability never to swerve 
from them. 

Clothed with such attributes, it is suitable that 
God should take the throne, and rule after the 
counsels of his own mind. His right to issue a 
law, therefore, is perfect. And as He is an infinitely 
good and just Being, his law, by consequence, must 
be holy, just and good. For it is absurd to suppose 
that a perfectly just and holy being should publish 
an unjust and unholy law. He could not do it, and 
still be just and holy. That very moment he would 
cease to be upright. The law then, is an expression 
of God's nature, his character and rights as a 
sovereign. What his law is, such is He ; what He 
is, such is his law. 

As He is the Creator of the universe, and in his 
nature infinitely glorious and lovely, every creature 
is under infinite obligations to love Him supremely. 
This is what the law requires. The obligation grows 
out of the relations existing between intelligent 
creatures and their Creator. Cod, being what He is, 



THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 95 

could not require less. It is impossible, therefore, 
for the divine law to change, unless God changes. 
If the law be founded in the nature of God, how 
can it be altered without the nature of God altering 
at the same time ? Is not the divine law holy and 
just ? And if it is changed, can it be for any other 
reason, than that G<;d has ceased to be holy and 
just ? Is it not fit, in the nature of things, that intel- 
ligent and moral beings should love with all the heart 
an object infinitely lovely ? Does not the law, re- 
quiring this, commend itself to the mind of every 
creature ? Is not God's conduct in giving such a 
law founded in the highest wisdom ? As He is the 
owner of all worlds, and by nature God, is He not 
rightfully possessed of supreme authority ? An 
authority infinitely binding, and infinitely worthy to 
be revered ? 

If now He should, in any case, give up his law, 
or in any respect change it, or refuse to execute the 
penalty due to its transgression, would that be any 
thing else than to give up his authority ? to abdicate 
his throne ? If one tittle of God's law should fail, 
He would acknowledge to all his creatures, that so 
much of his law is not right — is unholy, and that in 
instituting it, He made a mistake. Or, if God 
should refuse to execute the penalty of the law upon 
the transgressors of it, He would declare, that 
rebellion against his authority is no crime. And 
what would that be but saying, that He is not worthy 
of supreme love and homage ? That He is not a 



96 THE DIVINK LAW IMMUTABLE. 

Being infinitely glorious ? is not the Creator of the 
universe ? is not by nature God ? and, therefore, has 
no right to reign ? What else is this, than for God 
to give a quit-claim deed of his empire ? Surrender 
his throne, and "ungod himself?" 

We see, then, why the law is immutable — why it 
is easier for heaven and earth to pass than one jot 
or tittle of it to fail. They may change, but God, in 
his nature is unchangeable. His character can 
never alter. His law, like Himself, can never alter. 

Not only does the unchangeable character of the 
divine law appear from the immutability of God, but 
it is shown also, 

From the perfect benevolence of God. 

If God is a perfectly benevolent Being, He desires 
the highest happiness of his creatures ; and He will 
do all in his power to secure the greatest good of 
the whole. His law, in its nature, is calculated to do 
this. Perfect obedience to it renders his creatures 
as happy as they possibly can be. Give them any 
other law, and their enjoyment is lessened. Substi- 
tute in the natural world for the law of gravitation 
any other law, and the consequence would be univer- 
sal ruin. Repeal the law of God, and the peace 
and harmony of the universe go witli it. God's do- 
minions would become one vast hell, full of woe, 
flaming with malignant passions. The law of God 
seeks the best interests of his subjects. There is 
safety under it. Freedom is secured. Justice is 
rendered certain. The benevolent feelings are 



THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. »< 

brought out. Every thing unholy is repressed. 
The law is rational. Its design is good. Its pur- 
pose is to establish blessedness every where. In its 
actual operation it does so. All around God's great 
empire it diffuses light and bliss — makes every holy 
heart pulsate with joy. What more can Infinite 
Benevolence desire 1 If God is infinitely benevo- 
lent, will He not hold on to his law ? Nothing but 
a heart full of malice could prompt to the least 
change of a law so perfect — securing such happy 
results. As long, then, as God's perfect benevolence 
lasts, so long will his law remain immutable. For 
a guilty transgressor to seek shelter in the perfect 
benevolence of God, is only to flee to the very cen- 
tre of the furnace of God's wrath. 

Having thus shown that God's law is immutable, 
1 proceed to remark, 

First, If the divine law for these reasons is of so 
much value in the sight of God, that He will never 
give it up, then, the transgressor of it is exceedingly 
criminal. 

God would not maintain his law immutably, were 
it not holy and just. The reason, why He requires 
us to love Him supremely, is, that He is a Being 
possessing a nature infinitely excellent and lovely. 
He is infinitely better than all other beings. So 
that it can never be otherwise than right for us to 
love Him with all our hearts. And if we are under 
infinite obligations to love Him, then, not to love 
Him is to commit a crime infinitely heinous. For 
9 



98 THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 

what is the language of every transgressor of God's 
law ? It is that God is not worthy of love and obe- 
dience. Every sin you commit, my inpenitent 
friend, is an attack upon God's throne. It is an 
attempt, on your part, to injure the greatest and best 
Being in the universe. You are in fearful hostility 
against the very God of Heaven. His honor is of 
more importance than all worlds ; but that honor 
you are trying to tarnish. His government is most 
just and benevolent, securing the happiness of myr- 
iads of holy beings ; but this government you are 
attempting to destroy. By your life, by your exam- 
ple, you are endeavoring to lead others to be disaf- 
fected with it. You are thus at war with God — at 
war with the highest well-being of the universe. 
What rebellion blacker with guilt ? So selfish are 
you, that you are willing the interests of the uni- 
verse should be sacrificed, God's throne overturn- 
ed, rather than abandon your course of sin. What 
insult to the Majesty of Heaven and earth can be 
greater ? To violate God's law, then is a crime, 
that the flames of Hell alone can paint in all its crim- 
son hues. 

Secondly, If the law of God is immutable, then 
fellow-sinner, your obligations to love Him with all 
your heart will never cease. Your obligations to 
love Him grow out of your relations to him. He is 
your Creator, your Benefactor, your Preserver. He 
is, moreover, a Being perfectly good and amiable. 
He has also created you with the ability to love that, 



- THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 99 

which is infinitely lovely. He has, then, a claim 
upon your love higher than any other being possibly 
can have. For no other being is so worthy of being 
loved. He is perfectly right, therefore, in requiring 
you to love Him with all your heart. This is his 
law. This law, we have seen, can never be altered. 
So long as God shall continue to exist a perfectly holy 
Being, so long will you be under the greatest possi- 
ble obligations to love Him supremely. He will 
never change. Your obligations, therefore, will 
never change. It matters not whether you are dis- 
satisfied with Him or not ; your duty to love Him 
supremely remains the same. Your dissatisfaction 
does not render Him any the less holy and lovely. 
He has a firm hold upon your soul, which you can 
never shake off. Go to what part of the universe 
you please, you cannot escape his law. You cannot 
destroy your accountability, nor swing loose from all 
responsibility. Though in your rebellion you are 
thrust down to Hell, yet there you will be under obli- 
gations to love God supremely. No sufferings or 
tortures will alter the law, or weaken your obliga- 
tions to obey it. And after you have spent myriads 
Of ages in Hell, God will be as holy as ever ; and 
your obligations to love Him with all your heart as 
perfect as ever. 

Thirdly, If God's law is immutable, then, my im- 
penitent friend, your only hope of escape from pun- 
ishment is by faith in Jesus Christ. 

Sin has gathered over our world the dark frowns 



100 THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 

of a holy God. The tempest of his wrath lowers 
over it. The only place of safety, where the sinner 
can stand, is at the foot of the Cross. It is there 
that justice and mercy have embraced and kissed 
each other. Christ, by his death, honored the law 
— did more to express God's holiness of character, 
and to sustain his honor as a good, wise and just 
Sovereign — as much to induce all other beings to 
continue in obedience to Him, as your eternal pun- 
ishment could do. So that God can, consistently 
with his character for holiness and justice — consist- 
ently with the interests of the universe, forgive sin. 
Here, then, is your only hope. By faith in Christ 
you can escape the evil consequences of your con- 
duct. Whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, 
but have everlasting life. In vain do you look any 
where else for help. In vain do you bring forward 
your good works. What will they avail you ? The 
law is immutable. Cursed is every one that con- 
tinued not in all things written in the book of the 
law to do them. He that offendeth in one point, is 
guilty of all. If you have kept the law perfectly, 
you will live ; for the law was ordained unto life. 
But if you have once transgressed it, your good 
works are of no avail to you. The law knoweth 
no mercy. It contains not one word about pardon. 
To obey it is life ; to disobey it is death. 

Equally hopeless is the expectation, that repent- 
ance will atone for your guilt. What, though you 
repent — lament your folly with an aeronv of grief — 



THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 101 

shed oceans of tears, will it profit you nothing. 
The law cannot alter. If mere repentance would 
answer, God would never have sent his Son to die to 
make an atonement. If God could have justly par- 
doned the sinner upon repentance, He would have 
done so. For God is a benevolent Being. If mere 
grief for sin is all that is necessary in order that 
God may be gracious, then, not only all our race, 
but all the inhabitants of Hell maybe saved. For 
doubtless they bitterly bemoan their folly. But Je- 
sus Christ is the only foundation of hope. There is 
no other name given under heaven whereby men 
can be saved. If you turn away from Him, then, 
I remark, 

In the fourth place, Your punishment is certain. 

Your guilt is evident. It is known to God. It 
is confessed by yourself. Vain is your hope of 
eluding justice. A crime committed in the empire 
of God is not concealed — will never be forgotten. 
Time will not bleach your crimson guilt. In no part 
of the universe will you be safe. You cannot e- 
scape out of God's dominions, nor out of his hands. 
For in his hands are all the corners of the earth. 
He taketh hold of ends of the earth that the wick- 
ed may be shaken out of it. You may sing a lull- 
aby to your fears, and cradle your anxieties to re- 
pose. And because sentence against your evil work 
is not executed speedily, therefore your heart may 
be fully set in you to do evil. But though a sinner 
do evil an hundred times and his days be prolonged, 
9* 



102 THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 

yet it shall not be well with the wicked. If God's 
law is just, He would be infinitely unjust in letting a 
known violation of it go unpunished. He could not 
do it, and be a just Sovereign. He is so holy, that 
He never will do it. Thine hand shall find out all 
thine enemies ; thy right hand shall find out all 
those that hate thee. 

You can have no hope of safety. For God's 
threatenings are against you. By transgressing his 
law you have become his enemy. And God has said 
in relation to such, If I whet my glittering sword, 
and my hand take hold on judgment; I will render 
vengeance to mine enemies, and I will reward them 
them that hate me. Though hand join in hand, yet 
the wicked shall not go unpunished. Their feet 
shall slide in due time. Destruction and misery are 
in their path. By the blast of God they perish, and 
by the breath of his nostrils are they consumed. I 
will deal with them in my fury ; mine eye shall not 
spare, neither will I have pity , and though they 
cry in mine ears with a loud voice, yet will I not 
hear. 

Do you expect to succeed in your lebellion against 
God's government ? What hope of success is there ? 
Will you disannul his judgment ? Will you con- 
demn Him, that you may be righteous ? Hast thou 
an arm like Cod ? Or canst thou thunder with a 
voice like Him ? Deck thyself with majesty and ex- 
cellency ; and array thyself with glory and beauty. 
Cast abroad the rage of thv wrath. Look on every 



THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 103 

one that is proud and bring him low ; and tread 
down the wicked in their place, Hide them in the 
dust together ; and bind their faces in secret. Then 
will I also confess unto thee that thine own right 
hand can save thee. 

I remark, in the fifth place, if God's law is immu- 
table, being holy, just and good, then, fellow sinner, 
your punishment is not only certain, but just. You 
will not be dealt with more severely than you deserve. 
Your transgressions of God's law have been numer- 
ous. When has there been a time, when you have 
not been in arms against Him ? What hour of your 
life, in which you have not violated his law ? Among 
all the exercises of your heart has there been one 
feeling of supreme love to God ? When did you 
ever reverence Him as God should be reverenced? 
What labor did you ever commence with the earnest 
desire to glorify God ? When did you ever utter a 
word that was not tainted with sin ? What breath 
did you ever draw, when your heart was not in re- 
bellion against God ? Your sins are more for mul- 
titude than the leaves of the forest ; greater than the 
sands on the sea-shore ; who can tell their number ? 

They are also of a most aggravating nature. They 
have not been done from ignorance. You always 
knew that you ought to love God, that He is infin- 
itely worthy of your love. Yet instead of loving, 
you have hated Him. You knew that peace and 
happiness could come only by obeying his law ; yet 
you have gone on in the way of sin and transgression. 



104 THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 

You have loved idols, and after them you would go. 
God has warned you of the consequences of sin. 
He has entreated you to refrain from it. He has 
uttered the most terrible threatenings against it. He 
has told you that the way of the transgressor is hard. 
He has sown it thick with thorns, thrown obstacles 
in your path to arrest your progress. He has stretch- 
ed across it the black-scroll of death. He has caused 
the thunders of his wrath to roll in peals of woe 
along the road to Hell — his lightnings to blaze above 
it — the fires of the pit to come up and flash upon it. 
But you have not stopped. You laugh at his terrors 
and rush madly on to ruin. You have refused to 
listen to the instructions, the prayers and entreaties 
of Christians. Above all you have trampled under 
your feet the blood of Christ, accounting it an unholy 
thing. You have turned in derision away from the 
Son of God. Is not then your punishment just? 
What does such contempt of the infinitely holy God 
deserve but an infinite punishment ? 

The natural tendency of every sin that you have 
committed, is to dethrone God. It is an attempt to 
introduce rebellion and universal ruin into his do- 
minions. You have been guilty of the highest trea- 
son. God will, therefore, be infinitely just in inflict- 
ing upon you his fiercest wrath. Your own con- 
science, and the convictions of every inhabitant of 
Hell, will acknowledge that He is just. You will 
find no sympathy from any being. No companion 
in sin will take your part. No one of your associates 



105 THE DIVINE LAW IMMUTABLE. 

in despair will say, that you have been too hardly 
dealt with. All holy beings in Heaven will be per- 
fectly convinced of the justice of your punishment. 
They will adore forever the God of justice and good- 
ness, who would not suffer the interests of his holy 
kingdom to be destroyed, nor his authority to be 
overturned by your acts of rebellion. Therefore as 
the smoke of your torment shall ascend, all Heaven 
will rejoice, and give praise to God, saying, Alleluia ; 
for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth ; Great and 
marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty ; just 
and true are all thy ways, thou King of saints. 
Who shall not fear Thee, O Lord, and glorify thy 
name ? for Thou only art holy. 



NOTE. 

The preceding is the first sermon written by Mr. Prince, and was 
preached in the following places; Stillwater, Aug. 18,1844; Brewer, 
Sept. 8, 1844; Dennysville, Nov. 6, 1844; Machias Port, .Nov. 10, 1844; 
West Machias, Nov. 17, 1844; First Parish Church Bangor, Dec. 1,1844; 
Prospect, Jan. 12, 1845; Castine, Jan. 19.1843; East Brewer, Feb. 9, 
1845 ; Aurora, March 1845; First Baptist Church, Bangor, March 1845; 
Hammond Street Church, Bangor, March 30, 1845 ; Bucksport, May 11, 
1845; Cumberland, June 1,1845; Tabernacle, N. J. City, June 15, 
1845 ; Pilgrim Church, Brooklyn, June 22, 1845. 



SERMON II. 



THE TESTS OF PIETY 



Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all th* 
heart, and with all thtf soul, and with all thy 
mind.— Matthew 22 : 37. 

The whole law of God is briefly summed up in 
this remark of our Savior. It is an expression of 
the great law of God's moral government — a law 
binding upon every intelligent and accountable being. 
This law is holy, just and good. It is a transcript 
of God's moral character. No one has yet been 
able to discover any thing in this law, that is unjust. 
Every one, upon a careful consideration of it, must 
feel himself under the strongest possible obligations 
to obey it perfectly. It is the standard of all moral 
actions. By comparing the acts of our lives with 
this rule of duty, we may see what is our character. 
Many suppose they are Christians, and are living 
with the expectation of spending their Eternity in 



THE TESTS OF PIETY. 107 

Heaven, who may be all the while walking the broad 
road to death. The professed followers of Christ 
have occasion to examine their hearts and lives to 
see if they have come up to the scriptural standard 
of obedience — to make deep and searching inquiries, 
whether the love of God is in them or not. 

We propose to present some tests of Christian 
character, by applying which you may be able to 
determine, whether or not you love the Lord your 
God with all your heart. 

I. Ifyoulove God, you will also love the Lord 
Jesus Christ. 

God is strongly attached to Jesus Christ. There 
is a holy and happy union between them. He is 
the beloved Son of God. The Scriptures declare, 
that the Father loveth the Son, and hath given all 
things into his hands. God's love to Christ is great- 
er than to any other being. For to which of the 
angels hath He at any time said, Thou art my Son, 
this day have I begotten thee ? Wherefore, God 
hath highly exalted Him, and given Him a name, 
which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus 
every knee should bow, of things in Heaven, and 
things in earth, and things under the earth. Christ 
himself has declared, that there is such a union of 
nature and attributes between Him and the Father, 
that he that hateth me, hateth my Father also. If 
you, therefore, love God, you will love what God 
loves. Christ will be to you inexpressibly dear. You 
will love Him not as a perfect, sinless man, not as a 



108 THE TEST OF PIETY. 

holy being, taken from among the first of the Cre- 
ator's works, and sent into this world to set us a holy 
example, and make known to us new truths ; but 
you will love Him as the brightness of the Father's 
glory — the express image of his person, upholding 
all things by the word of his power, — the Creator of 
worlds, and without whom not any thing was made, 
that was made. You will, in other words, love 
Christ as a Divine Being — one equal with the Father 
in power and glory. He has thus declared himself. 
He thought it not robbery to be equal with | God. 
God has declared Him to be divine : Thy throne, 
O God, is forever and ever : a sceptre of righteous- 
ness is the sceptre of thy kingdom. Christ is placed 
on the throne of the universe, and all the angels of 
God are commanded to worship Him. God has 
given a command that every being should honor the 
Son, even as they honor the Father. He that hon- 
oreth not the Son, honoreth not the Father. If you 
love God, then you will delight in loving and honor- 
ing the Son even as the Father. You will contem- 
plate Him as enthroned in glory, God over all, 
blessed forever. You will rejoice that He is divine; 
you will love Him as such; you will desire to pro- 
claim Him to the world as the divine Savior. 

On the other hand, if you have no such exalted 
views of Jesus Christ, if your highest respect and 
love for Him extend only to a merely perfect man, 
who appeared in our world, and fella martyr to the 
truth., or to a high angelic being, clothed with dele- 



THE TESTS OF PIETY. 109 

gated power to visit our world on an errand of mer- 
cy, — if you have no love for Him as the Creator, 
and the Preserver of all things — have no delight in 
contemplating his nature and attributes as divine, so 
that you feel that he, that hath seen Him, hath seen 
the Father also — if you have no such love to Him 
as to lead you to cry out, Whom have I in Heaven 
but Thee, and there is none on earth that I desire be- 
side Thee — then, whatever else you may be,or what- 
ever else you may believe, one thing is certain, the 
love of God is not in you. You may think it a 
small thing, whether you love Christ as a Divine Be- 
ing or not ; but it is not so regarded by the Bible, 
nor in Heaven. No man can know the Father but 
by the Son. The Scripture saith, If any man love 
not our Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema, 
maranatha. 

If sincere love to God exists in your heart, you will 
love Jesus Christ as your Savior. You will view Him 
as the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the 
world. The Cross, though a stumbling block to the 
Jew, and a topic of scorn to the vainly wise and self- 
conceited, will be to you an object of amazing inter- 
est. You will admire that matchless condescension 
in the Son of God, that led Him to stoop from a 
throne of glory to a cross of shame. You will rejoice, 
that He, who was eternally rich, for our sakes became 
poor, that we through his poverty might be rich. 
You will delight to worship Him as your Redeemer. 
You will feel that you can join with the heavenly hosts 
10 



HO THE TESTS OF PIETY. 

above, the redeemed out of every kindred, and 
tongue, and people, and nation ; and with them cast 
your crown before the throne, and sing the new 
song, Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive 
power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and 
honor, and glory, and blessing. Such will be your 
love to the Savior, that He will be to you the chief 
among ten thousands, the one altogether lovely. 
Your language will be, 

" Thou art my all ! 
My theme ! my inspiration ! and my crown ! 
My soul's ambition ! pleasure ! wealth ! my world ! 
My light in darkness ! and my life in death ! 
My boast thro' time ! bliss through eternity ! 
Eternity too short to speak thy praise, 
Or fathom thy profound of love to man ; 
To man of men the meanest, even to me, 
My sacrifice '. my God ! " 

If you have no such feelings toward the Sa- 
vior — if, when you think of Him, your heart is cold, 
and He appears to you as a root of a dry ground ; — if 
there is no form nor comeliness, why you should de- 
sire Him ; — if your love to Him is not sufficiently 
strong to lead you to forsake father and mother, 
houses and lands, and to give up your own life even 
for his sake, — to lift you above the scorn and 
jeers of your fellow worms ; — if you have no desires 
to be more like Christ — to wear his image, and breathe 
his spirit — if you have no longings of soul for his pres- 
ence and his love ; then, whatever else you may be, 
.or however long you may have numbered yourself 



THE TESTS OF PIETY. Ill 

among the people of God, one thing is certain, the 
love of God is not in you . 

II. If you love God, you will also love the 
Holy Spirit. 

The Holy Spirit is a Divine Agent. Christ said 
to his disciples, If I go not away, the Comforter will 
not come unto you : but if I depart I will send Him 
unto you. And when He is come, He will reprove 
the world of sin, and of righteousness, and of judg- 
ment. The Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, 
whom the Father will send in my name, He shall 
teach you all things, and bring all things to your re- 
membrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. He 
is sent by the Father and the Son, and performs all 
the acts of a personal Agent. He is to convince of 
sin — to commence and carry forward the work of 
regeneration and sanctification to its final completion. 
He is, therefore, beloved by the Father and the Son, 
and is engaged with them in the great work of bless- 
ing our world. If therefore, you love God, you 
will love the Holy Spirit. You will also love Him, 
because He is divine. You will love Him, be- 
cause of his works. He is to take of the things 
of Christ and show them unto you. You will love 
Him as the great revealer of truth to the heart. You 
will adore the Holy Spirit as that Divine Being, who 
has produced in you that newness of nature, whereby 
you love what you once hated. You will be filled 
with gratitude for what He has done for you ; that 
you have been led to see your ruined condition, your 
guilt in the sight of God, to throw down the arms 



112 THE TESTS OF PIETV. 

of your rebellion, and submit to your rightful Sov- 
ereign. You will also pour out your soul in praise 
to the Spirit for his restraining power over you, for 
guarding you from temptation, leading you to crucify 
the flesh with the lusts thereof; dispelling the fear 
of death, and kindling in your heart desires for God 
and holiness; for giving you hope in the grace of 
God, a hope that maketh not ashamed ; a hope, that 
as an aachor sure and steadfast, buoys up your soul 
amid the heavy billows, that surge around you. 

You will also rejoice that the Holy Spirit is oper- 
ating upon the hearts of myriads of your fellow men, 
breaking the heavy chains of Satan from their souls, 
and peopling Heaven from this revolted province 
with a multitude, which no man can number ; who 
have washed their robes and made them white in the 
blood of the Lamb, who encircle the throne of God 
day and night, waking " the echoes of Eternity" 
with their notes of joy. 

But if, on the other hand, you see nothing lovely 
in the character of the Holy Spirit — if you view this 
Divine Agent as nothing more than a mere attribute 
of God — ridicule his personality ; — if you have never 
felt his power upon your own soul, melting your 
heart in love and deep humility— filling you with 
peace — leading you to hate sin, and to turn from it 
— to prefer the light of God's countenance to all the 
pleasures of earth ; — if you do not feel your entire 
dependence upon the Holy Spirit to sanctify you 
wholly ; if you have no desires to see his power 



THE TESTS OF PIETY. 113 

exhibited in the hearts of others, producing in them 
repentance, and the life of faith and godliness — if 
you feel no interest in the work of the Spirit, the 
conversion of sinners, and the building up of the 
kingdom of God, then you are still in the gall of 
bitterness and the bonds of iniquity. Whatever you 
have experienced, or may profess to be, one thing is 
very certain, the love of God is not in you. 

III. If you love God, you will love the Church 
of God. 

The Church is inexpressibly dear to the heart of 
God. He loves the Church with an everlasting love. 
He hath engraven her upon the palms of his hands ; 
He hath set her as a signet upon his arm, as a seal 
upon his heart. He has watched over her with the 
greatest care, preserved her as the apple of his eye. 
He will yet make his Church the joy of the whole 
earth ; her walls shall be salvation, and her gates 
praise. 

The Church is also dear to Christ. He hath pur- 
chased it with his own blood. The Church is the 
Lamb's bride. 

The Holy Spirit is engaged in the great work of 
purifying and enlarging the Church, making her the 
light of the world. The whole Deity is thus united 
in laboring for the interests of the Church. For her 
sake God has overturned thrones, and rebuked kings. 

If you love God, you will feel a similar interest 
in the welfare of his Church. Its prosperity will 
ever lie near your heart. You will make great sac- 
10* 



114 THE TESTS OF PIETY. 

rifices for it, will watch over its interests, grieve at 
the misconduct of its members, have a tender love 
to all in it, who bear the image of Christ. 

Now permit me to ask you, if you have any of 
that love for the Church, which dwells in the heart 
of God ? Have you strong desires to see it built 
up ? Do you delight to look back upon the past 
history of the Church, and behold, how God has 
led her through seas of blood, and fires of persecu- 
tion ? When she has been like a spark upon the 
ocean kept alive by the breath of the Almighty — 
like the pelican of the wilderness, and the owl of 
the desert, have you found your soul cleaving to her 
with a yearning sympathy ? Have you sighed over 
her sufferings, as you have tracked her footsteps, 
marked with blood, from the Cross on Calvary down 
through the dark midnight of her pilgrimage ? Has 
your heart ached, when you have seen her hunted 
as a partridge upon the mountains — wandering about 
in deserts, in dens and caves of the earth ? Do you 
feel that the interests of the Church infinitely trans- 
cend every other, however great, however import- 
ant ? Do you feel willing yourself to make person- 
al sacrifices for her ? Have you such love for her 
that you can cry out with the Psalmist, If I forget 
thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cun- 
ning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue 
cleave to the roof of my mouth ; if I prefer not 
Jerusalem above my chief joy. Is it the burden of 
your prayers, that the Church may be pure and holy 



THE TESTS OF PIETY. 115 

— that she may look forth as the morning, fair as the 
moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with 
banners ? 

Do you love the members of the Church ? He, 
who loveth God, will love his brother also. If any 
man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a 
liar ; for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath 
seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen ? 
If any one has offended, or injured you, do you pray 
that he may be forgiven, even as you yourself hope 
to be forgiven ? Do you love the company of your 
brethren ? Do you delight to go up with them to 
the house of God ? to mingle your prayers and 
praises with theirs before the throne of God ? Has 
the house of God attractions for your soul, because 
here your friends and kindred dwell ? Do you feel 
a drawing of your soul to the people of God, that 
you feel for no others ? Do the sympathies of your 
heart go out toward them ? Can you weep with the 
afflicted and rejoice with those that rejoice ? Do 
you seek the comfort and happiness of your brethren ? 
Is it your earnest desire, that they may grow in all 
the graces of the Spirit ? Are you more ready to 
charge yourself with neglect of duty, and coldness 
in devotion, than your brethren ? Do you seek to 
animate their hearts by your love and zeal, and 
strengthen their weak faith ? Do you rejoice to 
bear them on the wings of your faith to God's 
throne ? Do you mourn over the misconduct of the 
professed followers of Christ ? Do you, in fine, 



1 16 THE TESTS OF PIETY. 

love the Church with an ardor strong and fervid, be- 
cause it belongs to God, and bears his image ? 

If such are your feelings, then indeed may you 
hope that you have passed from death unto life, that 
you do love God. But if upon examination you 
find your heart wholly destitute of any such feelings, 
if you find the Church of little or no interest to you 
— experience no pleasure in her prosperity, and have 
no undying attachment to her, then, you may rest 
assured, that whatever else you may be, the love of 
God is not in you. 

IV. If you love God, you will cherish the spirit 
of benevolence to your fellow men. 

God so loved the world, that He gave his Son to 
die for it. If you love God, you will possess some- 
thing of the same expansive benevolence. Your 
heart will be large — the arms of your benevolence 
will embrace a world of sinners in all their guilt and 
woe. The same love, that was in Christ, will be in 
you, leading you to make great sacrifices and endure 
many self-denials for the good of your fellow men. 
The love of God will lead you not only to pray for 
the destitute, but to do something for them. You 
will devote to them your personal labors, as well as 
your good wishes and prayers. You will love not in 
word only, but in deed and in truth. 

Do you possess this active benevolence ? When 
you cast your eye over the wide spreading wastes 
around you — when you see thousands destitute of 
the word of life, who live year after year with no 
Sabbath blessings — hear no preacher's voice pro- 






THE TESTS OF PIETY. 117 

claiming salvation by the blood of Christ — thousands 
in our own land perishing for lack of vision, what 
are your feelings ? Can you pray for them ? and do 
you stop there ? Can you do nothing more ? Can 
you open no streamlets of benevolence from your 
heart, that will carry the waters of life into these 
barren wastes ? And what are your feelings, when 
the lamentations and woes of the heathen world 
break upon your ears ? Is your spirit stirred within 
you, as was Paul's, when he saw a whole city given 
to idolatry ? When the cry of six hundred millions 
of your fellow beings, that are ready to perish, comes 
up from every quarter of the globe — a cry long and 
loud — a cry mingled with the tears and groans and 
shrieks of despair — a cry loaded with agony unut- 
terable of millions sinking every hour into Hell, — 
a cry most heart-rending for help — for the bread of 
life — do you feel like stopping your ears and hard- 
ening your heart ? When you are asked to do 
something for these suffering millions — to send them 
the Bible — the tract — the missionary, do you feel 
that you have nothing to do ? That you can spare 
nothing of your wealth ? Do you feel it no privi- 
lege to give and to give liberally ? Does conscience 
give you no trouble, when you know that thousands 
are perishing, whom you might bless and save ? Are 
you saying to yourself, when will these calls for my 
property cease, and I be unmolested? Have you 
such feelings, and do you call yourself a Christian ? 
Whoso hath this world's good and seeth his brother 



118 THE TESTS OF PIETY. 

have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compas- 
sion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him ? 
If such are your feelings, and such your conduct, 
then, whatever else you may possess, one thing thou 
lackest, the love of God is not in you. 

V. If you love God, you will seek to live a life 
of holiness. 

God is a Being of spotless purity, so holy, that 
the heavens are impure in his sight, and He chargeth 
his angels with folly. He loves holiness, and requires 
it in the hearts of his children. If you love God, 
you will also love holiness, and seek to be holy. 
Hence unholy lusts and passions will have no resting 
place in your heart. You will labor to control the 
various appetites, that are always ready to lead you 
astray. Your earnest endeavor will be to subdue 
the ungodly desires of your heart. You will find, 
after your strongest efforts to eradicate sin from your 
bosom, that it is still a sink of corruption — a cage 
filled with every unclean and hateful bird ; and it 
will be a wonder to you, how the Holy Spirit can 
stay there. It will grieve you to find there ungodly 
feelings of every name and character ; feelings of 
indolence, carelessness, indifference to others, pride, 
self-sufficiency, haughtiness, contempt, malignant 
feelings, anger, wrath, peevishness, fault-finding ; 
great selfishness, love of applause, of honor, a nar- 
row-heartedness, and a host of others equally carnal 
and earth-born. These will cost you great pain, 
many tears, and hours of intercession. 



THE TESTS OF PIETY. 119 

Look at the character of God, and see what it is ; 
look at his law, and see what it requires ; look at 
your past life, and see what that has been. Does a 
sense of your folly and guilt ever affect your heart ? 
Has your life been a series of conflicts with sin and 
depravity ? Are you more desirous of living a life 
of holiness, than of obtaining wealth and applause ? 
When you have a view of God's greatness and holi- 
ness, can you adopt the language of Job, and say, 
I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes ? Do 
you feel that for a man to be in Christ, he must be 
a new creature ? that he must cast off the works of 
darkness, and put on the Lord Jesus Christ ? that 
the same mind must be in him, which was in Christ 
Jesus ? Are you seeking to bring your whole soul in 
subjection to the perfect law of God ? Do you pos- 
sess the amiable temper, the heavenly disposition of 
Jesus ? Are you endeavoring daily to pursue his 
footsteps ? Does the love of Christ constrain you to 
live not unto yourself, but unto Him, who died for 
you ? Does it grieve your heart, that you have done 
so much to dishonor God before the world ? That 
you should ever have wounded the Savior in the 
house of his friends ? Does your earnest prayer go 
up day by day, that you may be kept from sin ? that 
holiness may pervade your soul ? that you may so 
live, that men may take knowledge of you, that you 
have been with Jesus ? Is sin that abominable thing 
which your soul hateth ? Is it your daily prayer to 
God, Cleanse thou me from secret faults ; create 



120 THE TESTS OF PIETY. 

within me a new heart, O, God, and renew within 
me aright spirit ? Can you say with the Psalmist, 
Blessed are the undefined in the way, who walk in 
the law of the Lord ? Blessed are they that keep 
his testimonies, and seek Him with the whole heart ? 
O that my ways were directed to keep thy statutes ? 
If you have such yearnings of soul for God and 
holiness, you have indeed chosen the way of truth. 
You will continue to delight yourself in God's com- 
mandments. But if you have no desires for purity, 
and make no efforts to live the life of godliness — if 
your affections all centre upon earth — if you are 
more anxious for securing your own rather than the 
honor of God — if you have no desire to be conformed 
to his image — if you are willing to be left to enjoy 
what of happiness you can gather from things of a 
moment's duration — are disposed to have all your 
good things in this life — if your desire is, who will 
show me any wordly good, rather than, Lord lift Thou 
upon me the light of thy countenance, if you are 
wedded to earth, and are a stranger to Heaven — if 
you find no delight in pouring out your heart in 
prayer to God — never or but seldom enter your closet 
and there hold sweet communion with the Father of 
your spirit — if you live months and years in neglect 
of duty, and in open sin — if you take no pleasure 
in studying God's Holy Word — but seldom muse 
upon its truths ; if the Holy Spirit is a stranger to 
your bosom, and Christ is not precious ; if your at- 
tention is so absorbed in the affairs of this life, that 






THE TESTS OF PIETY. 121 

you cease to contemplate heavenly things, and the 
realities of Eternity have lost their power over your 
soul ; then, you have reason to tremble, to look about 
you in earnest, and to examine well the foundations 
of your hope of Heaven. For whatever your ex- 
pectation may be, and however comforting the delu- 
sions you are practicing upon yourself, one thing is 
certain, the love of God is not in you. In the day, 
when God shall reckon with your soul, your expecta- 
tions will be as chaff driven by the whirlwind, and 
your hope as the giving up of the ghost. 



NOTE. 

The foregoing sermon was preached at Machias Port, Nov. 10, 1844 5 
West Machias, Nov. 17, 1844; Brewer, Dec. 29, 1844; First Parish 
Church Bangor, April 20, 1845 ; Hammond-Street Church Bangor, May 
4, 1845; Cumberland June 1, 1845; Dr. Spencer's Church Brooklyn, JN. 
Y. July 2d, 1845. 



SERMON III. 



THE CONNECTION OF REASON WITH 
RELIGION. 



And he reasoned in the synagogue every sabbath, 
and persuaded the jews and the greeks. — add 
18: 4. 

After Paul had visited Athens and held a discus- 
sion with the Athenian Philosophers, he departed 
from thence and went to Corinth. There he con- 
tinued nearly two years preaching Christ and Him 
crucified. He reasoned in the synagogue every 
sabbath and persuaded the Jews and the Greeks. 
It appears to have been the constant practice of the 
Apostle Paul, wherever he went, to go into the syn- 
agogue and reason with the people on the subject 
of religion. The Apostle was a man of deep thought 
and great logical powers. These combined with a 
glowing zeal, gave him a fervid eloquence. 

The system of Christianity was to his mind ra- 



REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 123 

tional ; and when he urged it upon men, he did it 
not with empty declamation ; but with an eloquence 
penetrated with sober thought and sound argument. 
He was constantly basing his appeals to the con- 
science upon the teachings of reason. With the 
Jews he reasoned out of the Scriptures ; with the 
Philosophers of Athens he reasoned from the light 
of nature, and the principles laid down by their own 
poets. When he stood before Felix, he reasoned 
with him of righteousness, temperance and a judg- 
ment to come. 

We have selected this feature in the Apostle's 
preaching for the purpose of directing your atten- 
tion to the subject of the connection of reason 
with religion. 

Many deny that reason has any connection at all 
with religion. In this class are those who deny the 
right to reason on matters of religion. Another 
species of this class consists of those, who deny any 
connection of reason and religion ; because the re- 
ligion developed in the Bible is, in their opinion, a 
bundle of absurdities, about which there can be no 
reason ; — and they, who embrace it, must of neces- 
sity be fools. A third species in the same class are 
those who make religion consist altogether in feeling. 
You must/eeZ every thing ; — reasoning upon mat- 
ters of religion is out of the question. Religion is a 
thing of feeling from beginning to end. 

Another class consists of those, who acknowledge 
some connection between religion and reason ; but 



124 REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 

who, after all, watch the results of reason with a 
jealous eye. She is regarded as an unsafe friend, if 
not a dangerous foe to Christianity. 

A third class consists of those, who readily ac- 
knowledge the intimate connection reason has with 
religion, but have no distinct views of its true rela- 
tions to religion, or of the field, which it occupies. 

It is our purpose, therefore, to show, 

In the first place, That reason is connected with 
religion. 

In the second place, To inquire, to what degree 
we are to rely upon reason ; and, 

In the third place, What is the province of reason 
in matters of religion ? 

I. Our first business is to show, that reason is 
connected with religion. 

This appears evident, in the first place, from the 
very nature of religion. Religion consists in the 
knowledge of the Supreme Being, and a proper 
conduct on our part toward Him. But in order to 
arrive at a proper knowledge of God, the reason 
must be brought into exercise. For we can gain no 
idea of God in any other way. Irrational beings 
have no notion of God, nor can they have ; for they 
are possessed of no reasoning powers, by which 
alone any knowledge of God can be obtained. There 
can be no religion without a God. The existence 
of the Supreme Being forms the basis of religion. 
It is essential to it. But it is equally essential to re- 
ligion, that there should be some knowledge of the 
existence of God. For, if it is not known that God 



REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 125 

exists, religion is as much a matter of impossibility 
as though there were no God. But it is only by the 
exercise of the reasoning powers, that we arrive at 
the idea of the divine existence. We look at the 
Creator's works, and by reasoning trace back effect 
to cause, link by link, till we reach a solid convic- 
tion of the first great and eternal cause. And after 
we have done this, reason has performed but a small 
part of her labor. For reason is to inquire what is 
the character of this first great cause ; — is He a ma- 
levolent or benevolent Being ? Is He to be loved, 
or hated and shunned ? Are the relations, which 
we sustain to Him, such as lay us under obligations 
to Him ? Is he a Being, who will be pleased with 
our attempts to worship Him ? Does He require us 
to do it ? Will it be of any benefit to us ? In what 
manner shall we so worship Him as to secure his 
approbation ? These are questions of vital impor- 
tance in religion, and these reason must settle. 

That reason is connected with religion is ev- 
ident, in the second place, from the commands of 
God. They are given upon the supposition, that 
man has knowledge of God—that he is capable of 
reasoning so as to see the propriety of these com- 
mands, and his obligations to conform to them. He 
is addressed as a rational being. The obedience 
required is of a rational character ; not like the obe- 
dience which animals yield to the law of instinct ; 
not that, which a stone yields to the law of gravi- 
tation. 

11* 



126 REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 

The connection of reason with religion is evi- 
dent, in the third place, from the invitations, prom- 
ises, and threatenings contained in the Bible. Men 
are addressed as though they were able to reason 
about things, that belong to their happiness ; as ca- 
pable of balancing motives — seeing results — being 
affected by inducements — of choosing between things 
that differ. If religion is not intimately connected 
with reason, men would not be treated in this way. 

The same fact is evident, in the fourth place, 
from the actual instances of it contained in the Bible. 
The Bible abounds in appeals to man's reason. Sam- 
uel in addressing the children of Israel says to them, 
Stand still while I reason with you before the Lord 
of all the righteous acts of the Lord. God invites 
men to reason, saying, Come let us reason to- 
gether. Christ was in the constant habit of reason- 
ing with the Jews. The Apostles reasoned with the 
people on the day of Pentecost. This was their con- 
stant practice, to reason, wherever they went, — 
whether in the synagogues with the Jews, or in dis- 
tant regions among idolaters. Thus we see that ra- 
tionality runs through the whole of religion, perva- 
ding it as a golden tissue. It binds men by strong 
links of logic to God's throne. Religion begins and 
ends with reason. True, there are some mysteries 
in religion, which lie beyond the sphere of the ra- 
tional powers, and which we are required to believe 
upon the simple testimony of God. Yet reason ac- 
companies us to the very borders of these mysteries, 



REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 127 

and puts us upon rational grounds for the exercise 
of our belief in them. Thus is man never required 
to forsake reason at any point of progress in his re- 
ligious life. — Let us then proceed to inquire, 

II. To what degree we are to rely upon reason ? 

In reply to this inquiry, I remark, that we are to 
rely upon the teachings of reason as affording us 
certainty. Reason, operating ivithin her proper 
sphere and unperverted, always gives us certainty, 
and is to be relied on as correct and as of equal au- 
thority with divine revelation. We speak now 
simply of the degree of confidence, which we are to 
place in the teachings of reason, acting in its own 
sphere and unperverted. The confidence under 
such limitations is to be perfect and absolute. This 
will appear evident, if we consider, 

First, that the mind does actually know something 
to begin with, and knows it with absolute certainty. 
We are so constituted, that we cannot act, without 
assuming that we know something correctly. If we 
doubt this, and assert that we know nothing, — this 
very assertion implies that we know for a certainty 
this much, namely, that we know nothing. We 
must, therefore, assume, that in relation to some 
things we have correct knowledge. Such is the 
nature of the human mind, such its structure, that 
it cannot act like a mind, nor be a mind, without 
evolving from itself, in its first actings, certain prima- 
ry truths. These truths spring up in the conscious- 
ness of the soul with a certainty, which is absolute, 



128 REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 

and beyond denial. They will ever adhere to the 
mind. They can never be wrenched from it. They 
remain eternally fixed in the soul as unalterable 
truths — as absolute, complete certainty. Among 
these truths is the mind's knowledge of self-exist- 
ence, personal identity — its own unity ; also the 
notion of cause and effect, right and wrong — and 
the idea of power, and of freedom. These are 
truths, that spring up among the first actions of the 
mind. The mind cannot be taught them. It can- 
not gain them by revelation. They exist, and are 
known aside from all reasoning, and from all revela- 
tion. The mind, therefore, has certainty to begin 
with — something known — known absolutely — known 
perfectly. 

Reasoning consists in comparing two or more 
known truths — in perceiving the relations they bear 
to each other, and in deducing from them certain 
new truths, the knowledge of the existence of which 
thus comes to be certain. The logical deductions 
from known truths are perceived and felt to be as 
correct and real as the truths from which they are 
made. Hence men should rely upon them, and they 
do actually rely upon them, with perfect confidence. 
No revelation from God can make them any more 
correct or certain. Hence they are of equal author- 
ity with divine revelation. 

This is evident, 

In the second place, from the fact that the Bible 
takes it for granted, that men are certainly correct 



REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. ] 29 

on some points — that they are capable of reasoning 
correctly in respect to many important things. 
Thus the Bible takes it for granted, that men are 
correct in their belief of the existence and overruling 
power of the Supreme Being : that He should be 
worshipped — that man has sinned — and merits the 
displeasure of his Creator — that he knows what is 
right and wrong. It goes upon the assumption that 
man can reason correctly ; Come let us reason to- 
gether, saith the Lord ; Are not my ways equal ? 
Are not your ways unequal ? Christ regarded the 
Jews as capable of reasoning correctly as to the 
evidence of his Messiahship : If I do not the works 
of my Father, believe me not : but if I do, though 
ye believe not me, yet believe the works. They had 
a right to require miracles from one, who professed 
to be a messenger from God. They had the ability 
by reasoning, to determine whether these miracles 
were real or false. They thus could arrive at cer- 
tainty as to Christ's pretensions to being the Messiah. 
Christ acknowledged their right to require miracles, 
and the correctness of the deductions of their unper- 
verted reason. He, therefore, asks them to look at 
his works and reason fairly in relation to them. He 
had no fears of the result. This was acknowledging 
that the teachings of reason are to be relied on with 
as much confidence as the instructions of revelation. 
We pass to inquire, 

III. What is the province of reason ? 

This is an important inquiry, inasmuch as mistakes 



130 REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 

here lead to the most dangerous errors in doctrine and 
practice. In answer to this inquiry, we remark, 

In the first place, that reason is to determine 
the existence, the attributes and character of the 
Supreme Being. This will appear evident, if we 
reflect, (1), that the Bible takes the existence of 
God for granted. It supposes that men know this 
fact already. The Bible no where attempts to enter 
into any proof of it. It brings forward no array of 
argument — it goes into no discussion of the point. 
We find it assumed in the first sentence of divine 
Revelation ; — In the beginning God created the 
heavens and the earth. And if we consider a mo- 
ment, we shall see that this could not well be other- 
wise. For, it will be granted that we must obtain a 
knowledge of the divine existence, either by reason, 
or by divine Revelation. If by divine Revelation or 
the Bible, then the Bible would profess to come 
from a being wholly unknown — to teach us the ex- 
istence of an unknown being ; and require us to 
believe in his existence simply upon its own asser- 
tion. This would be taking assertion for proof. It 
would be allowing a witness, whose veracity was 
doubted in court, to assert his own veracity, and then 
take the assertion as the proof of it. The author- 
ity and correctness of the Bible might be denied, 
and then all its testimony would go for nothing. 
Hence, even if the Bible should profess to reveal the 
existence of God, it could not produce that kind of 
evidence, that would induce a rational belief. But 



REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 131 

the Bible undertakes no such thing ; it only profess- 
es to be a communication from a being whose exist- 
ence is already down. And as there are only two 
supposed sources of information on the point, reason 
and Revelation, and as Revelation does not, and can- 
not give it ; it follows that reason must. Hence it 
comes within the province of reason to determine 
whether there is a God, or not. This will be still 
more evident, if we consider, (2), the fact that all 
men have some knowledge of the divine existence. 
This has, indeed, been denied by some. It has been 
asserted that certain tribes of men have been found, 
who have no idea, or knowledge of God, — and have 
no religious worship. But this statement, upon 
careful investigation, has been ascertained to be in- 
correct. No nation is now known, which has not 
some forms of worship, and by consequence, some 
idea and knowledge of a Supreme Being. All the 
rites and ceremonies of the heathen world — their 
oblations and sacrifices — their self-inflictions and 
tortures — their prayers and vows, afford sufficient 
testimony, that they are aware that there is a Su- 
preme Being, — that He ought to be worshipped, — 
and that they have sinned against Him. 

The fact, that all men are made and feel that they 
are made accountable beings, proves not only that 
there is a God, but that they must have some idea 
of Him. For, they feel that they are accountable, 
— but accountable to whom ? Not to some being be- 
low them, — nor to themselves,but to something above 



132 REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 

—a supreme, all powerful God. They must, there- 
fore, aside from all revelation, have some knowledge 
of the divine existence. As they have not the Bible, 
they must have obtained it from the teachings of 
reason. This is still more evident, if we consider, 
(3) that the proofs of the divine existence come 
naturally within the range of the reasoning powers. 
The sources of proof are abundant. The mind can 
reason from effect to cause, and naturally inquires 
for and seeks after the cause of things. It is con- 
stantly employed in this manner. It comes properly 
within the range of its natural powers, therefore, to 
search out proofs of a first great cause. These exist 
in the works of the Creator's hands. They are infi- , 
nite in variety, and show consummate intelligence, , 
wisdom and skill. They point the reason upward, I 
and declare to it in distinct language, " the hand } 
that made us is divine." The language of the Bible 
fully confirms the position we have taken: For 
the invisible things of God from the creation of 
the world are clearly seen, being understood by the 
things that are made, even his eternal power and 
Godhead. So that that, which may be known of 
God, is manifested to men, for God hath in this way 
showed it to them. 

It comes within the province of reason, we remark, 

In the second place, to examine the evidences of 

Christianity. There have been other pretensions to 

revelation of which we have examples in the Sibylline 

Oracles of the Romans, the sacred books of the 



REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 133 

Persians and Hindoos, and the Koran of Mohammed. 
How shall we decide, which are really, and which 
are not of divine origin, if reason is not to determine 
the question 1 To what source shall we go for cer- 
tainty ? We are evidently as much left in the dark 
as though no revelations had been made. For we 
know not which is true, or but that they all are false. 
Reason, then, must decide the point. It must ex- 
amine the evidences of each. It must inquire in 
relation to the Bible, whether it contains all the rev- 
elations God has made to man ? Whether we have 
all the books that the primitive Christians had ? On 
what principles the early Christians proceeded in 
settling the Scriptural Canon ? Were these princi- 
ples correct or not ? Were the Sacred Books written 
when, and where they purport to have been written ? 
Were they written by the persons to whom they are 
ascribed ? Have they come down to us substantially 
the same as when originally written ? Are the state- 
ments of facts in the Scriptures to be relied on as 
true ? Does the Bible come to us clothed with di- 
vine authority ? are the Scriptures divinely inspired ? 
What assistance did the sacred writers receive in 
penning the Scriptures ? Did this assistance extend 
to the manner as well as the matter ; to the lan- 
guage of Scripture, as well as to the thoughts ? 
These are questions that come within the province 
of reason to examine and settle. I remark, 

In the third place, that it is the office of reason to 
establish what principles of interpretation shall be 
12 



134 REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 

put upon God's Word. No interpretation must be al- 
lowed, which contradicts the teachings of reason. In 
the plainest language there are metaphorical express- 
ions, and in every extended discourse there are limita- 
tions of general expressions growing out of the occa- 
sion upon which they are used. Reason must establish 
certain rules to guide us in such circumstances : such 
as that a document must never be so construed as to 
contradict its own design ; that the general customs of 
the people, by whom the language was used, must be 
known, — and their habits of thinking ; that the prin- 
ciples of an author are to be investigated by com- 
paring his language in one place with that which 
occurs in another. These and other rules of inter- 
pretation reason must establish. I remark, 

In the fourth place, that it comes within the 
province of reason to ascertain what truths and doc- 
trines are taught in the Bible. The Bible professes 
to teach some new doctrines, not taught by the light 
of nature. It certainly comes within the ability of 
reason to determine the fact, that the Bible does 
teach some new doctrines, and to ascertain what 
they are. They can be known and believed in no 
other way. And here the process is an easy one, if 
men would but follow the deductions of unper vert- 
ed reason. For reason first examines the evidences 
of Revelation. It feels satisfied, that the Bible is 
actually a Revelation from God, — and that every 
thing revealed by God, coming to his creatures from 
so high an authority, may be rested in as true. This 



KEASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 135 

being known, the next step is to ascertain what is 
contained in this book. And this can easily be 
done under the guidance of those principles of in- 
terpretation which reason itself has established. 
Thus we may for a certainty determine whether the 
doctrines of Christ's Divinity, — of the Atonement, — 
of God's Sovereignty, — of man's depravity, — of fu- 
ture punishment, are taught in the Bible, or not. 
So of any other doctrine. We may know what is 
the truth. I remark, 

In the fifth place, that it comes within the prov- 
ince of reason to determine its own limits, — and 
whether the knowledge of any doctrine received is 
arrived at by a perverted or unperverted reason. 
One of the most important offices of reason is to 
recognize her own limits, This she can do. She 
knows that she cannot grasp infinity — nor stride 
across Eternity,' — nor walk around the boundaries of 
the universe, — nor comprehend God. She knows 
that there are some things, that are true, which are 
above her comprehension, as the mode of the di- 
vine existence. While nothing can be received as 
true, which is contrary to reason, — because it is im- 
possible to perceive, at the same time, the truth and 
the falsehood of a proposition ;— yet many things 
are true, which reason does not comprehend. But 
reason, knowing her own limits, will yield assent to 
truths that lie beyond them, believing them upon the 
simple testimony of God's word. There will, there- 
fore, never be any contradiction between reason act^ 



136 REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 

ing within her own limits, and any doctrine of Rev- 
elation, which lies out of those limits. All doc- 
trines, therefore, that do really contradict reason, 
lie ivithin her limits. The truth of these she is 
consequently able to judge. If the Bible is true, 
and the deductions of reason are true, there can be 
no contradiction between the doctrines of true re- 
ligion, and the dictates of right reason. If, then, any 
such contradiction appear, there must be some mis- 
take. It is the business of reason to find where the 
mistake is. It may have arisen from not making a 
proper use of reason in the interpretation of the 
Scriptures ; or a proposition may be considered as 
implying a contradiction, which, in truth, is wholly 
owing to its being imperfectly understood. Our 
steps here must be measured back. We must ex- 
amine closely and impartially those passages, which 
appear to contain the doctrines ; compare them with 
one another ; endeavor to derive light from the gen- 
eral phraseology of Scripture ; and we shall gen- 
erally be able, in this way, to separate the doctrine 
from all those accidental circumstances, which give 
it the appearance of absurdity. 

Reason is to consider whether any avowal of doc- 
trine has not arisen from, or is not opposed on ac- 
count of some narrow prejudices, or pre-conceived 
notions. Take for instance the doctrine, that we are 
guilty of Adam's first transgression. Here the first 
inquiry is, are we able to determine the truth or false- 
hood of the proposition ? Upon examination we 



REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 137 

find that we can. The next point of inquiry is, is 
it true that we are guilty of Adam's first trangres- 
sion ? This may be settled by an appeal, (I) to the 
declarations of Scripture, where we are expressly told 
that the soul that sinneth, it shall die. The son 
shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall 
the father bear the iniquity of the Son. The right- 
eousness of the righteous shall be upon him. 

We may appeal (2) to the definition, which the Bi- 
ble gives of sin, that it is a transgression of the law ; 
and show that an individual must himself actually 
have transgressed the law, before he can be charged 
with guilt. 

We may (3) appeal to the evidence of conscious- 
ness. And we find that consciousness gives no 
declaration of our guilt in Adam's first sin. How 
can we feel guilty of an act done thousands of years 
before we had existence, of which we had no knowl- 
edge, to the commission of which we gave no con- 
sent ? The absurdity of the doctrine appears evident 
at once. But we may inquire further, (4), What 
inducements there may be to lead men to embrace 
this doctrine ? If men are not led to believe 
it from a desire to account for the many evils, that 
fall upon our race, upon innocent persons, such as 
sickness and death upon infants ? if they have not 
attempted in this way to reconcile the fact with the 
justice of God ? Reason inquires, if this cannot be 
accounted for on other and more rational grounds ; 
and demonstrates that it can be. It next inquires, if 
12* 



138 REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 

the doctrine is not embraced by men to shield them 
from all responsibility in their acts, and from blame 
for the evils they endure, and to enable them thus 
to throw it back upon Adam, who was their legal 
representative and head ? thus to exonerate them- 
selves from reproach — stifle the monitions of con- 
science, and live at ease in sin ? Has not their rea- 
son thus been perverted, and the doctrine arisen 
from the exercise of a perverted reason ? Reason 
can thus trace out the consequences of a doctrine, 
and show from its practical results, that it must 
necessarily be false or true. 

This may serve as an illustration of the mode, 
which reason may take to determine the truth of 
every doctrine of the Bible. 

I have thus briefly attempted to show the connec-y 
tion of reason with religion — the degree of confi- 
dence with which we are to rely upon its teachings, 
and the province which it occupies. I shall close 
with two brief remarks. 

1. We see from our subject, that there isjno cause 
either in reason or religion, why there should not be 
a unity of sentiment among Christians in regard to 
all the doctrines of the Bible. These doctrines and 
the teachings of an unperverted reason always har- 
monize. Men can be united in sentiment and belief 
on hundreds of points in the sciences. There is 
nothing in reason or religion, that forbids harmony 
of opinion among men on every point of Christian 
doctrine and belief. Hence the Bible strictly re- 



REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 139 

quires and insists upon this unity of sentiment: 
— Now I beseech you, brethren, by the name of our 
Lord Jesus Christ, that ye all speak the same thing, 
and that there be no divisions among you ; but that 
ye be perfectly joined together in the same mind, 
and in the same judgment. Let us walk by the 
same rule, let us mind the same thing. Fulfil 
ye my joy, that ye be like minded, having the same 
love, being of one accord, of one mind. If these 
precepts were ever binding upon Christians, they are 
now. There is no necessary cause in religion, or 
reason, why Christians should be separated from one 
another. The word of God is a perfect rule of faith, 
and is sufficiently plain and intelligible. These di- 
visions, therefore, are owing not to religion, but to 
the want of it — to the depravity of man's nature. I 
remark, 

2. That men are responsible for their religious 
belief. The doctrines revealed in the Bible are 
God's truths. He considered them important to us, 
or He would not have revealed them. He has writ- 
ten them so plainly, that we may know them. He 
has given us rational powers sufficient to discover 
them. If we do not understand and believe them, 
it is our own fault. God is the God of truth, and 
He has revealed to us the truth. We are under as 
much obligation to believe what is true, as we are 
to do what is right. It is not a matter of in- 
difference with God, what system of religious senti- 
ments we embrace. There is no more reason to 



140 REASON CONNECTED WITH RELIGION. 

hope that God will save us without believing the 
doctrines of the Gospel, than without performing the 
duties enjoined by it. Our future and eternal hap- 
piness as much depends upon the rectitude of our 
belief as upon the rectitude of our conduct. Hence 
Christ says, If ye believe not that I am he, ye shall 
die in your sins. He that believeth and is baptized 
shall be saved ; but he, that believeth not, shall be 
damned. God has suspended his favor upon our 
conduct in this respect. He will not save us, be- 
cause we have been sincere in the belief of error. 
If we have made lies our refuge, and hid ourselves 
under falsehood, He will lay righteousness to the 
line, and judgment to the plummet : ant? the hail 
shall sweep away our refuge of lies, and the waters 
shall overflow our hiding place. 



NOTE. 

This sermon was preached only once ; viz : at West Machias, Nov, 
24, 1844. 



SERMON IV, 



THE SINNER'S REGRETS. 



And thou mourn at the last, when thy flesh and thy 
body are consumed, and say, how have i hated in- 
STRUCTION, AND MY HEART DESPISED REPROOF. — PrOVerbS 

5: 11, 12. 

The writer, in the context, has been giving warn- 
ings against a life of sinful pleasure. In our text, 
he points to the winding up of a course of sin, and 
sets forth the bitter regrets, that fill the soul in that 
sad hour. He does this to deter men from folly, to 
induce them to forsake the road to Hell — to walk in 
the path of wisdom, whose ways are ways of pleas- 
antness, and whose paths are paths of peace. 

In harmony with the spirit and design of our text, 
we propose, as the subject of our present contempla- 
tion, the sinner's regrets: 

In remarking upon this subject, we invite your 
attention to the consideration of two points. 

I. When will the sinner have regrets ? 

II. What will he regret ? 



142 THE SINNER'S REGRETS. 

I. Our first point of inquiry is, When will the 
sinner have regrets ? 

We answer at the close of life, upon a bed of 
death. They will be dying regrets. He will mourn 
at the last, when his flesh and his body are con- 
sumed. In health, in the vigor of youth, and the 
strength of manhood, the sinner forgets that death 
is on his track. He thinks not that blooming youth 
and vigor will soon be passed. He is afloat upon 
broad and peaceful waters, and careless of the future. 
Pleasures are tempting. They allure from duty. 
They fascinate his soul. He is spell-bound by their 
wizard power. Thoughts of danger are unheeded. 
His fears he puts to sleep — sings them a siren song. 
All will go well at last. There is no cloud above, 
nor in the distant horizon ; storms, therefore, will 
never gather — tempests never howl, nor lightnings 
blaze. So reasoned the lovers of pleasure the day 
Noah entered the ark, and the morning Lot went 
out of Sodom. Thus do myriads reason, till their 
graves are thrown open before them. They are im- 
patient of restraint, greedy of folly, and bent upon 
sin. Thousands run the giddy round of worldly 
pleasures, with a thoughtless indifference of Eternity, 
till their death-knell is sounding in their ears. Ter- 
ror then takes hold of their souls. Their meridian 
sun goes out in darkness. 

The dying hour is a point fixed in the progress of 
each man's existence. As the sinner nears that 
point, a fearful shuddering comes over his spirit. 



the sinner's regrets. 143 

Here the gay and thoughtless become sober — the 
scoffer trembles — the swearer prays. — As the sinner 
gathers himself upon his dying-bed, his memory 
gathers around him the events of a mis-spent life. 
The history of his follies, the catalogue of his sins 
are read over to him. He must listen ; and if he has 
never had regrets before, he will have them now. 
Fears beset him. Hitherto he has succeeded iri 
keeping them at bay. In health and strength he 
could laugh at them. But now his courage faints. 
Life is fast ebbing. Gold cannot bribe his mortal 
foe. The voice of conscience he could once drown 
in the tumult of a busy life ; but the noise of busi- 
ness has now died away upon his ear, and conscience 
is again heard, in the stillness of the death-chamber, 
speaking in accents of stern reproof. — In the society 
of friends, he could once forget Eternity and a 
dying hour ; but now those friends are preparing his 
burial-dress, his winding sheet, and the hand of af- 
fection is wiping the cold death-sweat from his brow. 
Every circumstance of his situation is calculated 
to crowd upon the soul the retrospect of the past, 
and fearful forebodings of the future. He cannot 
avoid them. The last sands of life are falling. 
The pleasures of sin are ended, his hopes of happi- 
ness gone. He has lived a life of carelessness — 
revelled in sin. Now he has arrived at the end of 
it. He is compelled to look over it, survey his guilt, 
witness his madness, and feel in his soul the keenest 
regrets. Let us then, inquire, 



144 THE SINNER'S REGRETi. 

II. What the sinner will regret ? 

1. He will regret the misimprovement of privile- 
ges. God granted him the privilege of an intelli- 
gent existence. He upheld that existence for 
months and years ; blessed him with vigorous health 
and the comforts of life. He gathered around him 
affectionate friends. He put the cup of joy into his 
hands. He commanded the earth to bring forth her 
increase to satisfy his wants, and the seasons to move 
round to crown his years with goodness. God bless- 
ed also the labor of his hands ; whatsoever he did 
prospered, so that he lacked no good thing. He 
thus lived upon the joint bounty of earth and heav- 
en. His existence in the scale of creation was ele- 
vated. In rational powers he was made a little lower 
than the angels of God — and, as contrasted with 
inferior orders of being, he was crowned with glory 
and honor. He was raised so high in the scale of 
intelligence, that he could send out his thoughts to 
the corners of the universe, call the stars by name, 
and weigh the planets. He was gifted with amoral 
sense, which was as the candle of the Lord shining 
in the soul. He was made capable of shaping his 
destiny for both worlds. God placed the Bible in 
his hands, which he might consult, at any hour. 
His duties were all marked down there — written out 
so plainly, that he that runneth may read ; and the 
way-faring-man, though a fool, need not err therein. 
The Sabbath greeted him with its holy light, and 
hallowed rest. The sanctuary invited him to the 



the sinner's regrets. 145 

worship of his God. There the offers of salva- 
tion were freely made ; — and there Christians met to 
pray with him. 

But the sinner has neglected all these privileges. 
He placed but little value upon the privilege of 
living in a world like this. He now bitterly regrets 
the manner, in which he spent the vigor of his 
youth. He remembers that God's hand supplied all 
his desires ; but he never offered to Him one ex- 
pression of thankfulness. He received the gifts 
— consumed them upon his lusts — forgot the Giver. 
God poured rich blessings into his bosom to soften 
and melt his heart ; but they only made it adamant. 
God's holy Word, which would have made him wise 
unto salvation, lay neglected from week to week, 
from year to year. Its sacred truths he viewed with 
the most stupid indifference. Oh, if he had con- 
sulted those holy pages — searched for truth, as for 
hid treasures, what pangs would now be spared his 
soul in his dying hour. — Those Sabbaths — what a 
weariness were they ! How often did he violate 
that holy day ? Spend its hours in travelling, quiet- 
ing his conscience with the plea of necessity ! How 
often did he devote the day to amusements ! If he 
went up to the house of worship, with what thought- 
lessness did he do it ! When the sound of salva- 
vation was ringing in his ears, how heedless was he 
of Heaven and Hell ! He reads over the list of his 
Sabbaths ; not one of them was spent as he now 
wishes he had spent them. 
13 



146 the sinner's regrets. 

He calls to mind the opportunities he had of doing 
good. How did he abuse his wealth ? How many 
streamlets of beneficence might he have conducted 
through the barren wastes around him, making them 
bud and blossom as the rose ? What good might he 
have done by his example? How has he abused 
his talents ? — belittled and dwarfed the noble facul- 
ties of his soul ? 

He, in short, commenced his existence in circum- 
stances the most favourable. During life favors 
innumerable were heaped upon him. Had he not 
most shamefully abused his privileges, he might now 
be an heir of Heaven — be fitted to be a companion 
of angels. Instead of the gloom of despair, the 
smile of Heaven would light up his dying 
hour. The tomb, instead of being shrouded with 
the blackness of midnight, might be spanned by the 
rainbow. Instead of the woes of the damned, the 
songs of Heaven might be breaking sweetly upon his 
ear. 

2. The sinner will regret the mis-improvement of 
the instructions he received. 

If the sinner had been born in a land of heath- 
enish darkness, his dying regrets would be compara- 
tively few. But it is far otherwise. He commenced 
his life in a land of gospel light. Christianity rocked 
his cradle. In the tender days of infancy, a mother's 
voice spoke to him of Heaven. He felt the soft pres- 
sure of her hand upon his head, as she kneeled in 
prayer for her child. With the first feeble lisDinge 



the sinner's regrets. 147 

of his voice, she taught him to say, " Our Father." 
— Light was imparted to his budding mind. His 
feet were guided in childhood into the path that leads 
to Heaven. Parental love instructed him in the 
truths of the Bible — taught him his duties to God 
— warned him of the woes of sin. He remem- 
bers now, as he lies upon his dying bed, their coun- 
sels, their prayers, their tears. They were all un- 
heeded. 

He calls to mind also the instructions of the Sab- 
bath school. Truths relating to the salvation of his 
soul were there unfolded to his mind. The Bible 
was explained to him — brought within his compre- 
hension. But these instructions he heeded not. 
They were written upon his memory ; he let in a 
tide of worldliness to efface them. His teacher 
pressed truths upon his heart— he thrust them away. 
His teacher besought Him to become a Christian ; 
he preferred to live in sin. He chose to give his 
thoughts and affections to any thing rather than God. 

He was instructed also by his minister. What 
pains were taken to teach him the great doctrines 
and duties of religion ! How faithfully was he 
warned of death and the destruction of his soul ? 
What motives were placed before his mind to in- 
duce him to repent ? Life and death were set be- 
fore him, and he urgently entreated to make choice 
of life. He was pressed to give the subject of his 
soul's salvation immediate attention. He was told 
of the danger of delay — the hardening, withering 



148 the sinner's regrets. 

influence of sin — pointed to the uncertainty of life 
— the nearness of Eternity. Christians, in the con- 
ference room, besought him to stop and ponder well 
the paths of his feet. Earnestly did they pray for 
him, and with tears implored him not to ruin his 
soul. God also warned him by his providences. 
He wrenched from his hands his gods of silver and 
gold, and destroyed them before his eyes. Disease 
led him so near the grave that its cold death-chills 
made him shiver. Danger often pushed him almost 
over the brink of Hell. Its fiery waves broke all 
around him. Death unexpectedly and ruthlessly 
seized upon the friendly companion by his side. 
He heard his shrieks of agony — his cry of despair 
as he sank into the world of woe. But the sinner 
would be instructed by none of these things. He 
steeled his heart against the truth, jeered at the 
counsels of the Christian — laughed at dangers — 
mocked his Maker to his face. All the instructions 
of parents, of teachers, of Christians, of ministers, 
and God, have been wholly lost upon him. 

3. The sinner will regret his treatment of his 
Savior. He sees that God has left no means untried 
to save his wretched soul. Because no other being 
in the universe could save him, Christ undertook to 
rescue him. For his sake Christ laid aside the glo- 
ries of Heaven, took on him human nature, dwelt 
on earth, exposed to all its trials and woes. For his 
sake, the Son of God became a man of sorrows and 
acquainted with grief. For his sake, the Redeemer 



the sinner's regrets. 149 

endured the agonies of the garden, the fury of an 
insulting mob. For his sake, the Savior died upon 
the cross amid writhings and agonies that made the 
sun veil his face in darkness, the earth groan, and the 
dead leap from their tombs in amazement. The uni- 
verse gazed with astonishment upon the exhibition 
of such unheard of love. This Savior died for him. 
Every groan he uttered was for him. Every drop of 
bloody sweat was for him. His sins cost Heaven its 
brightest attraction, and wrung the heart of the 
Savior with pangs unutterable. But when told of 
the love of Christ — when pointed to the bleeding 
Lamb of God upon the cross, he turned away in 
scorn. He would not have salvation by faith in his 
blood. Though the voice of inspiration declared, 
that there was no other name given under heaven, 
whereby he could be saved ; yet he would not be- 
lieve it. He thought he could get into Heaven by 
his own good works : if not, God was a merciful 
Being and would overlook his mistakes. He should 
arrive at Heaven at last, with little difficulty. He 
was too much involved in pleasures, too much in- 
terested in friends, too deeply buried in business, to 
think about Jesus Christ, or to inquire wherefore He 
came into the world. 

But now the sinner is drawing near the eternal 
world. His moments on earth are but few. How 
shall he stand before his Maker — his soul crimsoned 
with sin — dyed in guilt ! His life of morality has 
been a life of hypocrisy. He looks over the whole 
13* 



150 the sinner's regrets. 

series of his past acts : but there is no one of them 
that he dares to plead before his Judge. He finds 
he never performed one single act in his whole life, 
from pure, sincere love to his Creator. He has lived 
wholly for himself. Self has been the great pro- 
pelling motive of his life ; the key, that will unlock 
all his actions. He cannot, therefore, justify himself 
before God ; fool, that he should ever thought of 
doing so. 

Equally deluded was he in the expectation that 
God would be so merciful, as to pass by his mistakes 
and give him free admittance to Heaven. He now 
sees that God out of Christ is a consuming fire — 
that his anger will burn to the lowest Hell — that He 
is a merciful God only to those who seek mercy 
through Jesus Christ. But that Savior he has de- 
spised. The sinner now feels that he has been 
building his hopes of Heaven upon a foundation of 
sand — and the tempests of God's wrath are begin- 
ning to beat heavily upon him, and he is fast sinking 
into the bottomless gulf. He is going as fast as the 
ebbing tide of life can carry him to perdition. 

How does he now regret his treatment of the 
blessed Savior. That Savior was clothed with om- 
nipotence, and offered to save him. But he would 
not be saved by Him. Christ had power to forgive 
sins, but he would not ask for pardon. The riches 
of Heaven were offered him, but he preferred the 
treasures of earth. Eternal life was proffered him : 
but he chose perdition. How bitterly does he now 
lament his follv. 



THE SINNER'S REGRETS. 151 

4. The sinner has still keener regrets, when he 
remembers his treatment of the Holy Spirit. 

The Spirit began to move upon his heart even in 
the days of childhood. He came to him when the 
voice of parental love spoke to him of God and 
Eternity. When he opened God's holy word, He 
warned him of righteousness and a judgment to come. 
He oftentimes met him in the Sabbath School, as his 
teacher besought him to repent of sin and turn to 
God. The truths presented to his understanding, 
the Spirit of God pressed upon his conscience. In 
times of revivals, when others were attending to 
their soul's salvation, the Holy Spirit came to his 
heart. He felt that religion was important ; was 
convinced that he ought to give it his careful atten- 
tion. But he deferred the subject. He loved sin 
too well to think of abandoning it so soon. He, 
therefore, said to the Spirit, Go thy way for this 
time, when 1 have a more convenient season, I will 
call for thee. The Spirit, driven from his bosom, re- 
turned again and again. He read over to him God's 
law, told him of the certainty of ruin — besought him 
to ponder well the path he trod. At times, the sin- 
ner was almost persuaded to be a Christian. Con- 
viction of sin clung to his soul ; he found it difficult 
to shake it off. Guilt weighed upon his conscience 
with a mountain's pressure, extorted groans from his 
stubborn spirit. But the pride of his heart was too 
great to submit to God. He would offer no pene- 
tential supplications. He would not make God his 



152 the sinner's regrets. 

choice and portion forever. His heart was still in 
love with sin. He loved the applause of men. He 
feared the finger of scorn — could not give up the 
society of some boon companions — had some press- 
ing engagements to attend to — was busy in hoarding 
wealth. He must therefore be excused. He was 
willing to sell his heavenly birthright for earthly 
pottage. He determined to have his good things in 
this world and let the interests of his undying soul 
take care of themselves. He thrust from him the 
Holy Spirit. It was the last struggle. The Spirit 
took his final leave. God said of him ; He is joined 
to his idols — let him alone. My Spirit shall not al- 
ways strive with man. 

Oh how dismal the prospect of the soul, when 
abandoned of the Spirit of God ! The last ray of 
hope goes out. The soul is leit in the gloom of 
eternal midnight. The sinner is as certainly and 
irretrievably shut up to his fate, as if already chained 
in the dungeon of despair. 

How unutterable the pangs of the sinner upon 
his death-bed, thus forsaken of God ! The Spirit 
insulted so repeatedly is gone forever ! The sin- 
ner knows that his destiny is now settled for Eter- 
nity ! He has made shipwreck of his existence ; he 
is hopelessly, eternally lost. All his privileges are 
unimproved — instructions unheeded — a Savior de- 
spised — the Holy Spirit grieved. He has to take up 
with the lamentation ; The harvest is passed, the 
summer ended, and I am not saved. 



THE sinner's regrets. 153 

And now death is fast hastening on. The sinner 
is, each moment, verging nearer and still nearer his 
final, his fatal plunge. Eternity, with all its dread 
realities, is before him ; his sins are all unforgiven ; 
he is leaving all he holds dear, all that he fondly 
loves ; his happiness is ended, his woes begun ; the 
future is shrouded with the blackness of darkness, 
through which gleam the fierce lightnings of God's 
wrath. 

" In that dread moment, how the frantic soul 
Raves round the walls of her clayey tenement ; 
Runs to each avenue ! and shrieks for help, 
But shrieks in vain ! How wishfully she looks 
On all she's leaving, now no longer hers ! 
A little longer, yet a little longer, 
O ! might she stay to wash away her crimes, 
And fit her for her passage ! Mournful sight ! 
Her very eyes weep blood ; and every groan 
She heaves, is big with horror ; But the foe, 
Like a staunch murderer, steady to his purpose 
Pursues her close, thro' every lane of life, 
Nor misses once the track, but presses on ; 
Till forced at last to the tremendous verge. 
At once she sinks." 

Oh ! the unutterable pangs ! the agonies — the 
fiery waves of despair, that break around that poor 
soul ! 

From our subject, I remark, 

1. The danger of delay in matters of religion. 
You, fellow sinner, know that you must die. You 
feel conscious that you are not fit to go into the 
world of spirits, and stand before your Maker. You 
are persuaded, that before you go into his presence, 
your feelings must be different from what they now 



154 the sinner's regrets. 

are. You know that as death finds you, so will the 
judgment and Eternity find you. He, that is filthy, 
will be filthy still. As the tree falleth, so it shall 
lie. Your probation will close at death, if not be- 
fore. Your reason teaches you, that a death-bed is 
a poor place to get ready for Heaven. What season 
for calm reflection, when the sins of a whole life 
are hastily crowding upon your attention ? What 
time to make preparation for the voyage of Eternity, 
when there is but an hour to live ? What can the 
affrighted soul do, when the body is racked with 
pain ? What time for repentance, when the soul is 
scared with the horrors of damnation ? 

Why, then, will you delay attention to your soul's 
salvation, till you are gasping your last breath ? It 
is enough to die, if you have your peace already 
made with God. Why will you, now that you are 
in health, in the possession of reason, crowd from 
you all thoughts of God and Eternity ? Why, when 
the offers of salvation are so freely made to you, 
do you listen to them with the greatest indiffer- 
ence ? The offer when despised may be withdrawn 
forever. God is in earnest, when He sets before 
you life and death, and presses you to choose life. 
God is not trifling with your soul. Nor will He al- 
ways wait to be gracious. If you continue to refuse 
to listen to his warnings and counsels, He will say of 
you ; Because I have called and ye have refused, I 
have stretched out my hand and no man regarded ; 
but ye have set at naught all my counsels and would 



the sinner's regrets. 155 

none of my reproof ; I also will laugh at your calam- 
ity ; I will mock when your fear cometh ; — When 
distress and anguish cometh upou you, then shall ye 
call upon me, but I will not answer ; ye shall seek 
me early, but shall not find me. Ye would none 
of my counsel ; ye despised all my reproof. There- 
fore ye shall eat of the fruit of your own way, and 
be filled with your own devices. 

As sure as God leaves your soul, fellow sinner, 
your destruction is certain. Every opportunity of 
repentance you neglect, every offer of mercy 
you slight, renders it more and more probable, 
that you will ruin your soul. You have no intention 
of going to Hell- — no intention of being shut out of 
Heaven. But you are taking just the steps to effect 
your destruction. If you were bent on going to Heli 
■ — were eager and clamorous to get into perdition, 
you could do nothing more to effect it, than what 
you are now doing. Ruin, fellow sinner, is easy, 
ah ! very easy. Just go on, as you are now going, 
and you will soon be in Hell. Just neglect the Sab- 
bath, spend it in sinful thoughts and amusements, 
just neglect to pray- — just continue to disregard the 
Bible— never open it with the desire to learn the 
way of salvation,— cavil with its doctrines — just turn 
away with indifference when you hear its truths 
preached ; continue to despise the offers of pardon 
and salvation by the blood of Christ ; and you will 
succeed, beyond all question, in landing your soul in 
perdition, where it will be of no service to you to 



156 the sinner's regrets. 

pray, where no Bible will be found to quarrel with — 
no offers of salvation be made — no Savior's blood to 
despise. 

Just continue to let the amusements of life engross 
your affections — continue to love the world with all 
your heart — just plunge so deeply into business, that 
you can shut out all thoughts of Eternity from your 
mind — just continue to be as selfish as you now are, 
love your silver and gold better than your God — just 
continue to absent yourself from the prayer-meeting 
— neglect the warnings of Christians — continue to 
slight the monitions of conscience — continue to dis- 
miss all thoughts of religion from your mind — just 
continue to say to the Spirit of God, Go thy way 
for this time — and when you are pointed to a judg- 
ment to come and a world of woe — just neglect to 
make any efforts to escape from it — just believe that 
Hell, and the fire that shall never be quenched, and 
the worm that never dies, are a delusion, and the 
Bible says nothing about them — just continue to do 
this — and you will, beyond a shadow of doubt, suc- 
ceed in sinking your soul to the lowest Hell. You 
will soon be where no prayer-meetings are held — 
where you will never again listen to the admonitions 
of Christians. You will be where the Spirit of God 
will no more visit your soul, — where you will no 
longer doubt the existence of Hell or dispute the 
endlessness of its torments. 

Yes, sinner, how easy it is to be undone forever ! 
Just " neglect the great salvation, and you shall not 



the sinner's regrets. 157 

escape the damnation of Hell." Just sit still and 
you die. It costs no effort. It is only to do noth- 
ing. 

2. I remark, that if the sinner perishes, he will 
have no one to blame but himself. It will be be- 
cause he hated instruction, and his heart despised 
reproof. God gives the sinner a fair chance to get 
to Heaven. He has said, As I live, I have no 
pleasure in the death of him that dieth. God has 
been at infinite pains, sinner, to preserve you from 
Hell. He has not left you in ignorance of his char- 
acter, or his law. His law is perfectly rational as 
well as holy. He has given you perfect ability to 
to keep this law in every respect. You was never 
compelled to violate it contrary to your will. Every 
time you have sinned, it has been from your own 
free consent and choice. God has warned you of 
the consequences of sin. He has told you that the 
wages of sin is death. 

Although you have often sinned most grievously 
against Him, He has prolonged your probation, to 
give you an opportunity to repent. You cannot, 
therefore, cast any blame upon your Creator. He 
has been exceedingly kind, and exercised great for- 
bearance toward you. An ample atonement has 
been provided. The blood of Christ cleanseth from 
all sin. The offers of salvation God has freely made 
to you : Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to 
the waters, and he that hath no money ; come ye, 
buy and eat ; yea, come buy wine and milk without 
money and without price. You cannot complain, 



158 the sinner's regrets. 

that the invitation is not large and ample enough : 
Whosoever will, let him take of the water of life 
freely. 

You have been invited from Sabbath to Sabbath, 
to accept the offer of salvation. Your duty to re- 
pent has been urged by Christians — pressed by the 
Spirit of God. Conscience has uttered words of 
admonition. But you have broken away from every 
restraint. Though God has been counseling, and 
entreating you to attend to the salvation of your 
soul, yet you have been perfectly careless about it. 
You have gone on in the ways and practices, which 
directly tend to your ruin. You have wilfully taken 
the course to be undone. God has told you, that 
the path you are going in leads to destruction. 
He has counseled you to avoid it. But you will not 
hearken. You obstinately persist in travelling the 
road to Hell, contrary to God's repeated commands. 
You are thus bringing ruin upon your soul. You 
will have your own way, and do not like to have 
God oppose you in it. You destroy yourself wilfully 
in fighting against God. 

Mercy calls after you, even while you are on the 
very brink of Hell, but you will not listen. You 
spurn the offers of mercy, and deliberately, knowing- 
ly, stubbornly plunge into the flames of perdition. 
Will you have any one to blame but yourself? 

NOTE. 

The preceding sermon was preached at West Machias,Nov. 3d, 1844; 
at Castine Jan. 19, 1845 ; Brewer, Feb. 1G, 1845; 1st Parish Church, Ban- 
gor Apr. 20, 1845; Bucksport, May 18, 1845; Pilgrim Church, Brooklyn, 
June 22, 1845. 



SERMON V 



NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 



There is no peace, saith Mr God, to the wicked. 
Isaiah 57: 21. 



Wicked men and God are at open war with each 
other. God as a rightful Sovereign has given laws, 
obedience to which will secure the highest happi- 
ness of all his creatures. But wicked men do not 
like these laws. They have been trying an experi- 
ment, whether, it is not possible to break away from 
God's laws, and still find happiness. God in the 
text pronounces the experiment a failure — that the 
world over in every age and clime, There is no peace 
to the wicked. It is our present purpose to estab- 
lish the proposition contained in the text, There is 
no peace to the wicked. 

I. This appears evident from their disappoint- 
ments. 

1. They are disappointed in their expectation of 
happiness in the possession of wealth. 



160 NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 

Wicked men turn away from God as a source of 
happiness, and attempt to find it in the possession of 
riches. They will not worship God ; therefore, they 
set up gods of silver and gold. They cherish the 
delusion, that in the service of Mammon there are 
many satisfying pleasures. 

Here the wicked are sadly disappointed. For in 
the acquisition of wealth, there is no peace to the 
wicked. While they are toiling after riches, they 
deprive their souls of all peace. They rise up early 
and sit up late and eat the bread of carefulness. 
There is continual anxiety lest their schemes for 
wealth should not succeed. With a troubled heart 
they watch the tardy seasons ; with an anxious eye 
scan every cloud. Their souls grow weary and 
faint in expectation of the return of wealth, entrust- 
ed to the bosom of the treacherous ocean. They 
are continually tormented with the fear, lest after all 
their great pains-taking, their hopes may be blasted, 
and they doomed to squalid poverty. In their eager- 
ness to become rich, they deprive themselves of all 
present enjoyments. A stingy parsimony puts the 
bit upon every appetite — and reins in every generous, 
and benevolent feeling. A shriveled selfishness lays 
its greedy hand on every gift in fortune's lap. Noth- 
ing is surrendered,except what is demanded by stern 
necessity. There is a meagreness of soul, that 
makes a dwarf of every blessing. The present is 
stripped of all its enjoyments, that the storehouse of 
the future may be amply filled. 



NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 161 

But after wicked men have obtained the wealth 
they so much desired, still there is no peace to the 
wicked. Whatever the abundance possessed, they 
are still tormented with the desire for more. He 
that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver ; 
nor he, that loveth abundance, with increase. His 
language still is, Who will show me any worldly 
good ? There is one, and there is not a second ; 
yea, he hath neither child, nor brother ; yea, there 
is no end of all his labor ; neither is his eye satis- 
fied with riches ; neither, saith he, for whom do I 
labor, and bereave my soul of good? He is disqui- 
eted in vain ; he heapeth up riches, and knoweth 
not who shall gather them. 

God does not permit the wicked to enjoy their 
wealth after they have secured its possession. The 
very wealth that they so much desired is a source of 
constant unhappiness. It brings with it new cares, 
greater toil and more torturing anxieties, so that 
they are robbed of all peace of mind. The abun- 
dance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep. The 
burden is heavier than he can carry. Wicked men 
live in the fear of losing the riches upon which they 
have placed their hearts. God oftentimes lets them 
have their fill of riches only to make the removal of 
them the more painful. They swallow down riches, 
but it is only that they may vomit them up again. 
Riches take to themselves wings ; they fly away as 
an eagle toward heaven. Thus are the wicked be- 
reft of their peace ; they cry out in bitter disappoint- 
14* 



162 NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 

ment, Ye have taken away my gods, and what have 
I more. Sometimes,in the madness of their despair 
they commit suicide. If their riches are spared to 
them, they are fearful, lest they should not be spared 
to their riches. 

While the wicked is saying to his soul ; Eat, drink 
and be merry, for thou hast many goods laid up for 
many years, he fears that God may take away his 
life, and then whose shall those things be ? In pros- 
perity the destroyer shall come upon him. Terrors 
take hold of him as waters — a tempest stealeth him 
away in the night. For God shall cast upon him 
and not spare. 

The wicked are doomed to disappointment in 
respect to those comforts they supposed could be 
gained by wealth. God gives them, as He did Sol- 
omon, the means and opportunity of tasting of every 
cup of pleasure, so that whatsoever their eyes desire 
they keep not from them : they withold not their 
heart from any joy ; they give full gratification to all 
their desires ; yet they find it all vanity and vexa- 
tion of spirit. These pleasures, even the best of 
them, are trifling and transient, — 

" Like snow flakes falling on a river. 
A moment white, then gone forever.*' 

The giddy rounds of fashion — the brilliant array 
of wealth bring no peace to the mind. They find 
that they have only pierced themselves through with 
many sorrows. Their children are among riotous 
persons — they grow up in indolence — they live in 
debauchery — and die in disgrace. 



NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 163 

2. I remark, that the wicked are disappointed in 
the possession of honors. 

Here as in the possession of wealth, there is no 
peace to the wicked. He, who wins honors, must 
struggle for them. Mere dreams do not secure them. 
They cost toil, and torturing, protracted pain. He, 
who seeks for the applause of this world, must empty 
his heart of all goodness — take into his bosom a nest 
of scorpions. Upon the altar of this Moloch he 
must sacrifice his humanity — his honesty — his con- 
science — his body and soul — his God and Heaven. 
He has a multitude of competitors to contend with. 
Failure is probable. How few of the myriads, who 
have attempted to climb up to the pinnacle of fame, 
have ever reached it ! How few have ever written 
their names high on the roll, which she hands down 
to coming ages ! How vast the number disappoint- 
ed ! How destitute of peace their lives ! Who, 
that has entered the list to run for the glittering 
crown, has not lost all peace of mind, in the fierce 
struggle to obtain it? And when he has secured it, 
with what disappointment has he found his laurels 
fading in a few brief hours ! Who, that has staked 
his happiness upon human applause, has not found 
himself miserably cheated ? What wreck of happi- 
ness has it cost him, who has attained the heights of 
power? Grant that his expectations are fully met, 
the utmost yearnings of his heart satisfied ; yet what 
is it all ? Is there any permanence to his happi- 
ness? What though, by years of toil, and a life of 



164 NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 

anxiety, he has purchased a few feeble blasts from 
the trump of fame, does not his pleasure perish in 
their dying echoes ? What is more uncertain than 
the smile of frail mortals ? What ocean more treach- 
erous than that upon which the ambitious man em- 
barks his all ? What though its waters slumber in 
calmness — and the bright sunlight rests upon it and 
gentle breezes fan it ? Will tempests never cover 
it with darkness ? will it never be swept by howling 
winds? never be tossed in mountain waves? Will 
its shores never be strowed with wrecks ? The ves- 
sel that to-day is seen riding safely upon the bosom 
of the deep, spreading its canvass to the passing 
breeze, rolls a dismasted, floating wreck to-morrow. 
So perish the bright expectations of the wicked in 
their strife for the honors of the world. There is 
no peace to the ambitious man. Look at a Saul upon 
the throne of Israel ;— mark the evil spirit that robs 
him of peace. Look at Haman ; hear him relating 
to his wife and family the high honors, to which the 
King had exalted him. Is he at rest ? has he any 
thing of solid peace ? His own lips are compelled 
to utter : All this availeth me nothing, so long as I 
see Mordecai, the Jew, sitting at the Kings's gate. 
There is no peace to the wicked. We hear it in 
the sobs of the conqueror of the world, as he weeps 
for another world over which to sway his sceptre. 
It is echoed from the lone dwelling of a banished 
Napoleon. It is uttered by a Caesar, as his blood 
stains the daggers of a Roman Senate. 



NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 165 

3. I remark, that the wicked are disappointed 
in their expectation of happiness from friends. 

Constituted as man is with social feelings, the 
most rational source of happiness, to which he can 
look, aside from seeking it in God, is the society of 
friends. To this men are by nature strongly in- 
clined. As waters gushing from the mountain's 
side seek for repose in the lake, or the ocean's 
bosom, so do the feelings of man's heart flow forth 
to seek a resting place in the hearts of others. This 
is as it should be. But yet these very elements con- 
tain a power that may destroy all the happiness of 
the wicked. They sometimes carry him over some 
frightful precipice. If permitted to repose unfanned 
by the breath of heaven, these waters of the heait 
stagnate and engender a moral pestilence. And too 
often in the case of the wicked tossed by strong pas- 
sions, they prove a troubled sea that cannot rest, 
whose waters cast up mire and dirt. 

Men make calculations upon large stores of hap- 
piness, in possessing the confidence and affections of 
others. And they would not be disappointed in this, 
did they truly love God. Friendship is a plant of 
Paradise. But its seeds must have a genial soil, or 
they will not vegetate. Planted in the hearts of the 
wicked, they do not yield their natural fruit. You 
look for grapes, and behold, they bring forth wild 
grapes. 

The possession of friends is an invaluable gift. 
Yet, in the hands of the wicked, this cup of bliss 



166 NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 

becomes a cup of woe. God throws into it bitter 
ingredients, — dilutes its sweetness with worm-wood 
and gall. To the wicked it becomes a cup of trem- 
bling and of sorrow. They are compelled to drink 
and wring out its very dregs. Their bosom friends 
often prove a curse to their existence. Sometimes 
they are persuaded by them to acts of wickedness. 
Sometimes they are led by them to embrace delu- 
sion and error, to believe a lie, that they may be 
damned. The friendship of this world is at enmity 
with God. Sometimes they are dissuaded from list- 
ening to the counsels of Heaven, and frightened 
from all thoughts of God and Eternity. Sometimes 
the friends of the wicked strive to allay all anxieties 
about the salvation of the soul, and the wrath of 
God — and draw off their thoughts to worldly amuse- 
ments. Thus they smoothe their way down to the 
flames of Hell. 

Even in the most favorable circumstances of 
friendship, the wicked find nothing that is worth 
calling happiness. There is no solid, permanent 
peace of mind. Their joys at best, are short-lived. 
They perish like the dew-drops of the morning. 
How often are their bitterest enemies those of their 
own household ? They in whom they trusted, who 
eat of their bread, lift up their heel against them. 
What discord and jealousies invade their firesides, 
blasting everything lovely around them. 

The family is the holiest and calmest retreat on 
earth from the storms of the pitiless world. But 



NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 167 

over the threshold of this sanctuary of the pure and 
warm affections, God has inscribed in living charac- 
ters, No peace to the wicked. Sin puts out the fires 
upon its altars, renders it the very Babel of the ma- 
lignant passions, the place where discord holds 
jubilee. 

The truth is, the heart of the unregenerate does 
not harmonize with itself. It is full of harsh discord, 
and therefore cannot harmonize with the heart of 
any other being. The soul of man gives forth its 
sweetest music, its richest melodies, only when tuned 
to the key-note of Heaven. 

Not only do the wicked experience sad disappoint- 
ment in respect to all the sources of happiness ; but 
I remark, 

II. God sends judgments upon them. 

Wicked men are opposed to God. They hate his 
requirements. They wish to follow their own selfish 
purposes. They, therefore, cast off the fear of God, 
and inquire, Who is the Lord that we should obey 
Him ? They expect happiness in the disobedience 
of his commands. God takes measures to overturn 
their plans, and destroy their peace, by sending 
judgments upon them. The wicked are troubled on 
every side. God has declared by his judgments, 
that there is no peace to the wicked. 

The cherubim with the flaming sword, which 
turned every way, proclaimed to our guilty first pa- 
rents, as they were driven out of Paradise, No peace 
to the wicked. Cain, that wicked one, who slew 



168 NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 

his brother,as he stood writhing under the displeasure 
of the Almighty , crying out, My punishment is 
greater than I can bear, felt the truth of God's dec- 
laration, No peace to the wicked. 

The deluge that swept away the wicked men of 
the old world, proclaimed to the universe with the 
voice of many waters, No peace to the wicked. 
The flames that went up from the licentious cities of 
Sodom and Gomorrah, inscribed in letters of fire 
upon the canopy of heaven, No peace to the wicked. 

The vials of God's wrath were poured out in fear- 
ful plagues upon Egypt, till there went up from every 
dwelling throughout the length and breadth of the 
whole land, a cry of wailing and despair, uttering 
the admonition of the text, No peace to the wicked. 

As the Israelites stood with Moses upon the banks 
of the Red Sea, and beheld Pharaoh and his host 
overwhelmed by the mighty billows, they heard the 
voice of God uttered from the bosom of the great 
deep, No peace to the wicked. 

The children of Israel themselves, on account of 
their murmurings against Moses and Aaron, and 
rebelling against their God, compelled to sojourn in 
the wilderness, till their carcasses all fell there, all of 
them from twenty years old and upwards, learned by 
bitter experience, that there is no peace to the 
wicked. 

When Korah, Dathan, and Abiram rebelled against 
Moses and Jehovah, and the earth opened her mouth 
and swallowed them all up alive, their houses and 



NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 169 

all their goods ,• their death cry, as it rent the air, 
proclaimed in frightful tones to the trembling hosts 
of Israel, No peace to the wicked. 

The guilty inhabitants of Jericho, as they felt the 
walls of their city heaving beneath them, and fell by 
the merciless sword of their enemies, found that the 
unalterable decree of Heaven is, No peace to the 
wicked. 

The proud King of Babylon, as he drinks his wine 
in the golden vessels taken from the house of the 
Lord, with his lords — his princes — his wives, and 
his concubines, turns pale with fear, his thoughts 
trouble him, the joints of his loins are loosed, and 
his knees smite one against another, as he beholds a 
spirit-hand writing upon the wall of his palace, No 
peace to the wicked. 

In bringing upon Jerusalem, whose hands were 
dyed in the blood of prophets and the Son of God, 
such evils as had not been and shall not be again, 
God demonstrated the truth of our text, No peace 
to the wicked. 

The ruins of Nineveh, of Carthage, — the desola- 
tions of empires — the graves of republics— the ashes 
of Athens and Rome, have inscribed upon every 
page of history, this one great truth, No peace to 
the wicked. We read it on the tomb-stone of a Por- 
phyry and Julian. We hear it in the dying strug- 
gles, the death-shrieks of an expiring Voltaire, No 
peace to the wicked. No, there is no peace, saith 
my God, to the wicked. For God is angry with the 
15 



170 NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 

wicked every day. Evil shall slay the wicked ; and 
they that hate the righteous shall be desolate. The 
face of the Lord is against them that do evil, to cut 
off the remembrance of them from the earth. How 
oft is the candle of the wicked put out ? and how 
oft cometh their destruction upon them ? They are 
as chaff which the wind driveth away. 

III. I remark, there is no peace to the wicked 
by reason of the terrors of conscience. 

As long as a good conscience exists in any being, 
there will be peace. His earthly prospects may be 
blighted, his name cast out as evil, his fellow mortals 
may scowl upon him ; but as long as his conscience is 
void of offence, he has a store -house of blessedness 
within his own bosom. He can look up to heaven, 
and receive the smile of his God. But there is no 
enemy like an offended conscience. There is no 
anguish like self-reproach : no war so fierce as that 
which a man wages with himself. The conscience 
takes part with God. It is in favor of his law. It 
is the stern vindicator of justice. The wicked man, 
therefore, has to calculate upon eternal enmity be- 
tween himself and conscience. He attempts there- 
fore to parry the blows and disarm the foe of his 
peace. He may, for a time, think himself successful. 
But in a moment, when he least expects it, this foe 
leaps suddenly upon him, — assails him with a power 
he cannot resist. It speaks in tones of thunder to 
his agitated, terror-stricken soul. No power can 
deliver him from the dominion of his conscience. 



NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 171 

He stands a guilty wretch, trembling at the bar of 
his judge. How are the wicked plagued by this 
vicegerent of God in the soul? Look at the drunkard 
— the adulterer — the vile blasphemer of Heaven. 
Watch the down-cast look, the hurried step — the 
troubled brow. Is there peace within his bosom ? 
Look at the murderer. Why does he start at the 
rustling of a leaf? Why does he flee when no man 
pursueth? Why does paleness bleach his' counte- 
nance, when his crime is known only to himself, is 
the secret of his own heart ? He feels that every 
eye is turned upon him — that his crime is written 
upon his brow, and that men read it there. There is 
an invisible hand, that scourges his spirit with a whip 
of scorpions. There is a power beneath which he 
writhes in agonies unutterable. It stands by his 
couch at night, to scare his soul with dreams. It 
tracks his footsteps by day, pursues him to his most 
secret retirements and utters screams of terror in the 
ear of his affrighted soul. It compels him to turn 
traitor to himself, and divulge the secret. The spirit 
of a man will sustain his? infirmity ; but a wounded 
spirit who can bear? The guilty wretch finds that 
the way of transgressors is hard. There is no peace, 
saith my God, to the wicked. 

IV. I remark, that there is no peace to the wick- 
ed, because they are troubled with the fear of death. 

Ever since the first crime of Paradise, the fear of 
death has clung to our race. There is no child of 
Adam, who has not felt it. This universal fear of 



172 NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 

death has arisen from a universal consciousness of 
guilt. It is only a small portion of our race, that 
have been delivered from the fear of death, by be- 
lieving in the Lord Jesus Christ. To such death is 
not terrible. For them to die is gain. They rest 
from their labors, and their works do follow them. 
But it is not thus with the wicked. The sting of 
death is sin. They are not prepared to die. Hence 
that tormenting dread of death, which robs their 
souls of peace. This fear of death is constantly 
coming in to mar the sinner's happiness. It is, 
therefore, pushed as far from the mind as possible. 
But yet it keeps rolling back upon the sinner's heart 
with an unwelcome pressure. He knows that death 
is certain. For what man is there that liveth, and 
shall not see death ? Shall he deliver his soul from 
the hand of the grave ? This truth is daily demon- 
strated before his eyes: There is no one, that hath 
power over the spirit to retain the spirit ; neither 
hath he power in the day of death ; and there is no 
discharge in that war ; neither shall riches deliver 
those that are given to it. The certainty of death 
takes from him that relish for sinful pleasures, which 
he might otherwise have. It is certain that he must 
leave all objects of interest — all he fondly loves 
— all his happiness, and launch upon the dark ocean 
of Eternity. 

The suddenness of death also robs his soul of 
peace. He is not merely tending toward a brink, 
over which ultimately, when he arrives, he must 



NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 173 

plunge, but he travels the whole journey of life upon 
that brink. His way winds along the perilous edge 
of a precipice ; and the very next step may carry 
him over. Death comes unexpectedly. Health is 
no security against it. He may be in the vigor of 
strength to-day, and in Eternity to-morrow. 

V. But what destroys more than all other things 
the wicked man's peace, is the certainty, that after 
death is the judgment. 

There is a certain fearful looking for of judg- 
ment and fiery indignation, that shall devour the 
adversaries of God. The sinner knows that God 
will bring every work into judgment, whether it 
be good, or evil. There shall be nothing cover- 
ed, that shall not be revealed, neither hid, that 
shall not be known. His life has been one of open 
rebellion against God. The privileges, which God 
has given him, have been many and great ; warn- 
ings and counsels numerous. And he remembers 
that for all these things God will bring him into 
judgment. How completely deprived of peace is 
the wicked man, as he lays himself down to die. 
All the happiness of his past life is as a dream — a 
tale that is told. Every attempt to obtain enjoy- 
ment in sinful pleasure has proved abortive. The 
whole experiment of his life is a failuie. He has 
found, at last, that the truth of God standeth sure, 
There is no peace to the wicked. And as he rolls 
in agony upon his dying bed, he cries out with ev- 
ery groan, No peace to the wicked. He looks down 
15* 



174 NO PEACE TO THE WICKED. 

into the grave, and groans again, no peace. As he 
closes his eyes on all below, his dying accents are? 
no peace. And as the " clock of Eternity strikes 
one," it tolls out his death knell, no peace. As his 
trembling spirit stands before its judge, its sobs are 
still heard, no peace. And when the sentence is 
pronounced, Depart ye cursed, — and the sinner is 
driven away in his iniquities, he utters the bitter lam- 
entation, no peace. And as the gate of Hell opens 
and closes after him, its weary hinges groan forth, 
no peace. And as that wretched spirit sinks down 
into the bottomless pit, and the dark waves of misery 
close over him, there comes up the wailing cry — 
no peace. Ages of Eternity roll away — and there 
is still heard reverberating through the gloomy cav- 
erns of despair, that same cry of woe, no peace. 



NOTE. 

The preceding discourse was preached at Brewer Apr. 'XI, 18 k> : at 
Bucksport, May 1846; at Hampden, July 20, 1815. 



SERMON VI 



THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 



In evert thing by prayer and supplication, with 
thanksgiving, let your requests be made known 
unto God. Philippians 4: 6. 

Prayer is the presenting of our desires to God 
for things agreeable to his will. It is the intercourse 
of the soul with its Creator, in which we express to 
Him our adoration, acknowledge our obligations, of- 
fer our thanksgivings,confess our sins, and supplicate 
in the name of Christ, favors for ourselves and others. 
Prayer implies that there is a God — that He is our 
Maker, our Preserver, the Bestower of all our bless- 
ings, and that we by necessity are dependent upon 
Him. No one, who believes in the existence of. 
God, doubts that we are his creatures, and that we 
are dependent upon Him. These are points, then, 
which we shall take for granted. 

Yet there is a large class of individuals, who are 



176 THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 

willing to acknowledge the existence of God, and 
their dependence upon Him ; but who, notwithstand- 
ing, never bend the knee in prayer to Him — never 
by prayer and supplication let their requests be made 
known to God. To them prayer is any thing but 
rational business. They attempt to defend or excuse 
themselves for the neglect of it, on the ground that 
it is an irrational employment. 

Our present object, therefore, is to show, that 
prayer, as already defined, is altogether rational. 
This we shall argue, 

I. From man's helplessness. 

In the present life man's condition is one of so 
great weakness, that it may with truth be said, he 
is a worm of the dust. At the commencement of 
his existence, he is wholly destitute of the power to 
administer to his necessities. He is left entirely to 
the protection of others. 

Not only is man, while in infancy, in a state of 
weakness, but in every period of his existence here, 
he is more or less in great need of help. Numer- 
ous wants attend him through childhood ; wants, 
which he himself is unable to supply ; and for the 
furnishing of these he must look to others. What 
child can supply itself with food or clothing? What 
child has the physical ability or skill to use means to 
meet its daily necessities ? 

And as man grows up to youth, and passes through 
manhood to old age, is he not at every step a help- 
less being ? Can he get along without the assist- 



THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 177 

ance of his fellow men ? Can he perform the labors 
of one day even, without in some way calling in 
their aid ? Does he do for himself every thing, 
that is necessary to his comfort — his happiness, and 
the carrying out of his plans ? Is he not oftentimes 
exposed to injuries and dangers, to rescue himself 
from which he must depend upon others ? When 
racked with pain, does he not need their assistance ? 
And in sickness, how soon without their aid would 
he perish ? 

Now the fact of such helplessness and need of 
the assistance of others, lays a proper foundation for 
applying to them for aid. If help may in any way 
be obtained, his need of it renders it highly rational 
that he should ask for it. He would appear highly 
irrational if he would not do so. Hence the child 
in applying to the parent for food and raiment, the 
distressed in imploring aid from others, subjects in 
petitioning favors of their rulers, always feel that 
their conduct is highly rational. Men never con- 
sider the expression of such wants as at all contrary 
to reason. The fact of helplessness and need has 
always, the world over, been a satisfactory reason, 
why desires for aid should be expressed ; and this 
too not merely once, and with indifference, but often 
and with the greatest earnestness. 

Now that man is in a condition where he greatly 
needs help cannot be denied. And that he is in 
circumstances such that he requires not only the as- 
sistance of his fellow beings, but far more the aid 



178 THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 

of his Creator is also evident. For his situation is 
such, that he is dependent upon God for strength 
and skill to obtain his daily bread. If God should 
withdraw from him, how quickly would he die ! 
His power is very limited. It is utterly beyond his 
ability to cause the fruits of the earth to appear in 
their season. He cannot give to the grain, which 
he casts into the ground, a quickening energy, that 
will make it spring forth and administer to his wants. 
He cannot guide the winds, nor direct the clouds ; 
he cannot give sunshine, nor temper the atmosphere. 
Health and life, and most of his blessings it is be- 
yond his power to produce. He cannot guard him- 
self from the thousand concealed dangers, that lie 
about his pathway. He cannot rescue his friends 
from the grave, nor deliver himself from the jaws of 
death. Now the fact of his dependence — his need 
of favors, which lie wholly in the power of God to 
bestow, and which he must have, or perish, renders 
it entirely, rational, that he should supplicate his 
Creator for these favors ; — that in every thing by 
prayer and supplication he should let his requests be 
made known to God. 

II. Let it be considered, in the second place, 
that man is in a state of great ignorance. 

In the early part of his existence, he is entirely 
ignorant of the events and phenomena, that he be- 
holds taking place around him. Of the real causes 
of things he is during life almost totally ignorant. 
Yet there are many things which he can know, and 



THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 179 

must know, in order to secure his present happiness. 
But his knowledge of these things depends very 
much upon his asking for it. If he refuses, or neg- 
lects to ask for instruction, he remains in ignorance, 
and exposes himself to numberless evils, which are 
inevitably attendant upon it. Now a great part of 
these calamities may be avoided, provided he will 
ask for the necessary information, and which he 
may usually obtain by asking for it. The fact, that 
man is in a state of ignorance, and that he may se- 
cure knowledge by inquiring for it, renders it rational 
that he should do so. For do the child, the 
scholar, the mechanic, the farmer, and the merchant, 
ever suppose that they are acting otherwise than ra- 
tionally, when they wish to be enlightened on any 
subject connected with their employments ? 

Mankind are oftentimes placed in circumstances, 
where they do not know how to act. This arises, 
in a great measure, from their ignorance of the fu- 
ture, and the effects of certain causes. How often 
does a man bring complete ruin upon himself in con- 
sequence of his ignorance of the future ? He can 
look back upon the past, and see where he made a 
mistake, and how easily, had he known enough, he 
might have avoided it. Men are in a measure igno- 
rant in what way a present action may affect their 
future happiness, and that of others. A man may 
embark his wealth in an enterprise to-day, which 
may leave him a bankrupt to-morrow. He may 
utter a remark, or perform an act, that will lead 



180 THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 

thousands to ruin. He is every day exerting an in- 
fluence, of the consequences of which he can tell 
nothing. The measures, which he is adopting in 
the education of his son, may land him in perdition. 
The efforts he is making to render his family com- 
fortable, and to pour into their bosoms the luxuries 
of wealth, may be a blighting curse to their existence 
forever. He may have the kindest feelings to his 
fellow men ; be anxious to secure their present and 
eternal happiness — have no intention of doing any 
thing that will ruin their souls ; yet he may dissemi- 
nate false sentiments in philosophy and religion, that 
shall blast the church of God, and lead thousands of 
his fellow beings straight down to the flames of Hell. 
The future happiness of millions may be suspend- 
ed on a single act, which if performed would seem to 
render their prosperity certain ; but which, if per- 
formed, may make shipwreck of their interests for- 
ever. What legislator can tell the effect of making 
certain laws ? Of declaring war ? of making a 
treaty, or of enlarging commerce ? Men are con- 
stantly performing acts — oftentimes apparently very 
unimportant acts — of the consequences of which 
they have not the least conception. Yet those acts 
may set in motion a chain of influences that shall 
shake continents and shape the destiny of millions. 
There is one man in a retired room, alone by him- 
self, busy in penning his thoughts upon paper ; but 
that document becomes the constitution of a great 
and mighty nation. There is another with the map 



THE REASONABLENESS OP PRAYER. 181 

of Europe spread out before him. He is scanning 
its kingdoms, and sketching a plan for invading Rus- 
sia. He rises from the investigation to put that 
plan in execution, which finally works out his own 
ruin. Thus ignorant are men of the consequences 
of their actions. We know not upon what quarter of 
the globe the effects of our conduct may strike. We 
know not what mischief, in our ignorance, we may 
do, nor where it will end. To supplicate, therefore, 
the guidance of our Creator in relation to all our 
acts, so that we may have such counsel and wisdom 
imparted to us, as that our present course of con- 
duct may not destroy the future well-being of our- 
selves and others, is the dictate of reason. The 
history of every age fully evinces how rational men 
have always considered such conduct. They have 
inquired of their oracles and supplicated their gods 
for wisdom and instruction. Is it then, at all irra- 
tional that Christianity should require us to pray ? 
Does it at all contradict the common sense of our 
race ? Does not God know infinitely more than we 
do ? Can He not manage affairs vastly better than 
we can ? Overrule our conduct so as to prevent 
any mischievous consequences, if we ask Him to do 
it ? And are we not in a state of ignorance such 
that we greatly need his wisdom to guide us ? And 
is it irrational to ask for it ? The teachings of the 
Bible appear to have a peculiar fitness to man's state 
of ignorance : If any of you lack wisdom let him 
ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally and up- 
16 



182 THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 

braideth not. He, who is ignorant, may ask, and it 
shall be given him ; seek, and he shall find ; knock, 
and it shall be opened unto him. The fact, then, 
that men are in a state of great ignorance, where 
they need counsel and guidance, renders it the part 
of reason, that by prayer and supplication they 
should let their requests be made known to God. 

III. We argue the reasonableness of prayer from 
the fact of man's sinfulness. 

No man will deny that he is a sinner. The in- 
stance has never yet been found, in our world, 
where an individual has stood up and solemnly de- 
clared, that he had never sinned. It is a universally 
acknowledged fact, that as a race we have all gone 
out of the way, we have altogether become corrupt. 
This no one doubts. Now the fact of our sinful- 
ness implies the forfeiture of all our blessings. We 
are all miserable sinners, and as such deserve not the 
least of God's favors. But notwithstanding all this, 
we are every day of our lives receiving from his hands 
a countless multitude of mercies. He feeds us, He 
clothes us, and gives us friends. In Him we live, 
and move and have our being. 

Now in the course of affairs among men, one indi- 
vidual oftentimes is made dependent on another for 
great favors, and it sometimes happens that he 
greatly sins against and injures his benefactor. The 
concurrent voice of mankind declares, that in such 
circumstances, it is peculiarly fitting and rational, 
that this individual should go to his benefactor — 



THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 183 

confess his guilt — thank him for his kindness, and 
ask his forgiveness. And especially is this reasona- 
ble, if his benefactor has continued to bestow his 
blessings, notwithstanding the ill-treatment he has 
received. It is upon this principle that men act in 
the government of the family, in the affairs of the 
state, and in their dealings one with another. That 
individuals, who have offended in this way, should 
acknowledge to their benefactors their obligations 
and their unworthiness, and praise their goodness, 
and supplicate the continuation of their favors, is 
what all see and feel to be highly becoming. Not 
even an infidel, or atheist will deny that such con- 
duct among men is any otherwise than perfectly ra- 
tional. Can it, then, be at all irrational for us, who 
are sinners against our Creator, who have, from day 
to day, received numerous blessings coming from his 
inexhaustible goodness, while we are so utterly unde- 
serving, to express to Him our sincere gratitude — 
earnestly pray for the forgiveness of our sins, and beg 
for new favors ? What father would believe his son 
a fool for thanking him for an act of kindness ? 
What mother would consider her child destitute of 
sense, because that child came to her to ask forgive- 
ness for disobedience and ingratitude ? 

Why, then, should a man be deemed out of his 
wits — engaged in most irrational business, who bows 
before his Heavenly Father to thank Him for his 
kindness — implore his forgiveness, and offer up sin- 
cere desires (or his care and protection ? Our 



184 THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 

wretched condition as sinners, as vile traitors, who 
have lived upon the bounty of our Sovereign, would, 
if there were nothing else, render prayer the most 
suitable of all employments. 

IV. The reasonableness of prayer may be argued 
from its producing dispositions of mind suitable to 
man's conditions and relations. 

The exercise on the part of a child of respect, 
ove and obedience to its parents, is highly be- 
coming, and is what all expect. So in the youth 
feelings of modesty, self-respect, kindness to his 
equals, and deference to his superiors in age and 
wisdom, contribute to his respectability and happi- 
ness. While on the other hand, a haughty man 
soweth strife for himself, and pride goeth before 
destruction. Such are the relations in which our 
Creator has placed us, that certain tempers of mind 
tend greatly to augment our happiness, and others to 
destroy it. Now that every one, whatever his sta- 
tion in life, should have proper views of himself, and 
cherish feelings of heart suitable to his situation, is 
evidently rational. 

In relation to God, men ought to have proper re- 
spect and love, and right views of their duties to 
Him. But, as a general thing, men are full of pride 
and selfishness. They do not feel their dependence 
upon God, and care but little about acknowledging 
their indebtedness to Him. They are inflated with 
self-conceit, intoxicated with the idea of their own 
worth and abilities. They forget that they are mis- 



THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 185 

erable beggars, dependent every day upon the joint 
alms of earth and heaven, and have nothing for self- 
admiration but their filth and rags. 

Now prayer tends to produce in the rnind a just 
apprehension of the character and attributes of God, 
and the relations men sustain to Him. It begets 
within us a deep sense of our constant dependence. 
It shows us the folly of pride, induces feelings of 
humility, and of reverence for our Creator — cherishes 
a spirit of thankfulness, leads us to distrust our own 
strength and to put our confidence in God. It soft- 
ens our hearts, — causes our love and sympathies to 
gush forth toward our fellow men, so that we cannot 
only forgive our debtors, as we hope to be forgiven, 
but pray for our enemies. 

Such feeling's and dispositions of heart not only 
augment our happiness, but are in themselves amia- 
ble, and suitable for such creatures as we are to cher- 
ish. They are such as glow in the bosoms of angels, 
and who would think, then, that a worm of the dust 
would be disgraced by indulging them ? Yet some 
men are ashamed to pray — ashamed to ask of God 
the forgiveness of their sins — ashamed to acknowl- 
edge their dependence — -to implore his smiles and 
blessing to rest upon them — ashamed to feel humble, 
and teachable as a child — to pour out their hearts in 
thanksgiving and praise , and unite their songs of 
gratitude with the anthems of praise sung by angels 
in Heaven ! 

They would be mortified to be caught in any such 
16* 



186 THE REASONABLENESS OF TRAYER. 

employment. A distinguished governor of one of 
our southern states remarked to a friend one day, 
that there was but one act in his life, of which he 
was heartily ashamed ; and that was, that he once 
was so great a fool as to go into his closet and pray 
to God ! What would that man do, if put into 
Heaven among the angels of God, who delight to cast 
their crowns at his feet, and bow around his throne 
in holy worship and adoration ! If prayer begets 
those dispositions in us suitable to our condition as 
dependent creatures, and our relations to our fellow 
men, why should it be considered as a thing irra- 
tional for us by prayer and supplication, with thanks- 
giving, to let our requests be made known to God? 

V. We argue the reasonableness of prayer from 
the connection there is between means and ends. 

We live under the administration of a moral Gov* 
ernor, who has established certain connections be- 
tween causes and effects, between antecedents and 
consequents*; God had a perfect right to do this ; 
but why He has done so we do not know. All we 
know, is, that God of his own good pleasure has 
placed things in such relations, that one thing is made 
to depend and does depend upon another preced- 
ing event or thing. We have evidence daily, that 
this is the system the Creator has adopted. We see 
it in operation every moment around us. Rain and 
sunshine are antecedents to vegetation — caution to 
safety — toil and industry to honor and wealth — ap- 
plication and a teachable disposition to the attain- 



THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 187 

rnent of knowledge. We find also that men often- 
times make certain virtuous dispositions the antece- 
dents to the bestowment of certain favors. Certain 
qualifications are necessary before men can be ad- 
vanced to posts of honor and trust. 

The bestowal of favors, which men have it in their 
power to confer, depends not only upon certain 
qualifications, but also upon application for these 
favors. The seeking for them is oftentimes made the 
antecedent to their being granted. And this de- 
pendence of events upon their antecedents renders 
it rational, that the antecedents should exist. And 
if those antededents are certain states of our own 
minds — certain dispositions and acts of ours, then it 
is reasonable that we should be required to exercise 
such dispositions, and perform such acts. 

Now God has established certain antecedents to 
the bestowment of his favors. And as the establish- 
ment of all antecedents depends wholly upon his 
will, for aught we know or can tell, prayer may be 
just as good as any other antecedent to the granting 
of blessings to men. God has seen fit to make it such. 
He has revealed to us the fact, that prayer is the 
Condition, on which he bestows the most valuable of 
his gifts. He declared this fact to his ancient peo- 
ple : Thus saith the Lord, I will be inquired of by 
the house of Israel to do it for them. The prayer 
of the upright is his delight. Ask and ye shall re- 
ceive. 

God in thus making prayer the condition of be- 



188 THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 

stowing favors, acts in accordance with the common 
course of things in the natural world. It is just as 
rational to ask God for favors, as it is to ask any fa- 
vor of a fellow being. And even more so ; for He 
is more willing to bestow mercies upon us than 
earthly parents are to give good gifts to their 
children. 

God's previous knowledge of our wants does not 
destroy the rationality of prayer. Prayer does not 
inform Him of any thing new, nor add at all to his 
knowledge. But it is enough for us to know, that 
He has made prayer the condition on which He will 
grant us favors. Why He has done so, He may not 
make known to us. He is under no obligations to 
tell us why. He has not told us why the world turns 
in one direction rather than in another. He has not 
informed us why the farmer must sow his grain in 
the earth in order to reap a bountiful harvest. But 
He has told us that the sluggard, who will not plough 
by reason of cold, shall beg in harvest and have 
nothing. God's fore-knowledge of the fact, that a 
man will become learned and arrive at destinction, 
does not destroy the necessity of study and industry 
on his part. Nor does God's fore-knowledge of the 
fact, that a man will be temperate and virtuous, do 
away the necessity on his part of resisting tempta- 
tion. For the same reason his fore-knowledge does 
not render it irrational, that by prayer and suppli- 
cation, with thanksgiving, men should let theii re- 
quests be made known to God. 



THE REASONABLENESS OP PRAYER. 189 

We learn from our subject the folly of those, who 
live in the neglect of prayer. Some now before me 
may have lived perhaps from year to year without 
prayer ; some perhaps have never prayed. Our 
subject shows you how irrationally you have been 
acting. We have seen, without any reference to 
any injunctions of the Bible, that prayer is rational. 
We have taken acknowledged facts, which all must 
grant, such as that we are in a state of helplessness, 
ignorance, sinfulness, and should cultivate feelings 
suitable to our conditions and relations, and that 
means are necessary to the accomplishment of cer- 
tain results ; and, from these acknowledged facts, 
have shown the reasonableness of prayer. If we 
have arrived at right conclusions, then your conduct, 
in casting off fear and restraining prayer before God, 
is any thing but rational. 

You know that God exists — you know that you 
are in a helpless condition — that you are wholly de- 
pendent upon Him. Yet you live as though there 
were no God. You know that He is a great and 
omnipotent Being — that He can destroy your life in 
a moment — can make ten thousand things work to- 
gether so as to frustrate all your plans, and make 
you completely wretched. Yet you offer no prayer 
to Him for his protection, — breathe forth no desire 
for his aid and guidance. You live as though you 
were wholly independent of God ; as though you 
could manage your own affairs and take care of 
yourself. What presumption and folly in a worm 



190 THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 

of the dust ! You have received innumerable bless- 
ings from God, whom you so much neglect. He 
has ever been kind to you, far more so than any 
other being in the universe. You have always lived 
upon his bounty. Ever since you commenced your 
existence, He has been giving you day by day your 
daily bread, and has clothed and sheltered you. He 
has given you friends to love and watch over you — 
has granted you the luxuries of life, and many and 
great privileges. No good thing has He withholden 
from you. He has guarded you from numberless 
dangers — raised you up, perhaps, from the bed of 
sickness — has always been near to help and relieve 
you. Yet you have not bowed the knee in prayer to 
this kind Benefactor — have never thanked Him for 
his goodness, and are living day by day as though 
you were not in the least indebted to Him. Is sucli 
conduct the part of a rational creature ? Have you 
no mercies to make mention of? nothing for which 
to be grateful ? What folly then, for you to refuse 
to pray ! What ingratitude do you exhibit before 
heaven and earth 1 

You are a great sinner. You have not always 
sinned through ignorance. You have knowingly 
violated God's commands. And you have not only 
done it once but repeatedly, and through a series of 
years ; so that your sins have been neither small nor 
few. Your guilt has been accumulating during life. 
You have done nothing to lessen it, nor are you 
willing to do any thing to remove it. You do not 



THE REASONABLENESS OF PRAYER. 191 

bend the knee in prayer to God to beg for pardon, 
though you know it is most rational for you to do so. 
Can any thing exhibit greater folly ? 

You know also that you should exercise feelings 
and dispositions of mind suitable to your condition 
and the relations you sustain to God. But you are 
daily living without the exercise of any such feelings. 
You do not by prayer cherish those feelings of rev- 
erence, of humility, and love to God, which you ac- 
knowledge it is rational you should do. You are so 
proud that you will not prostrate yourself before Him, 
and cry, God be merciful to me a sinner. You have 
so little confidence in his promises, that you do not 
think it worth the while to plead them before Him. 
What profit, you inquire, shall we have, if we pray 
unto Him ? Such feelings you know to be displeas- 
ing to God, and unsuitable to the relations you sus- 
tain to Him. Be persuaded, then, no longer to act 
so irrationally. Go to God in prayer, confessing 
your sins, imploring his compassion, begging for par- 
don. No longer refuse to pray, but in every thing 
by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let 
your requests be made known to God. 



NOTE. 

The foregoing sermon was preached at West Machias. October 20, 
1844; 



SERMON VII. 



MYSTERIES. 



If I HAVE. TOLD YOU OF EARTHLY THINGS, AND YE BE- 
LIEVE NOT, HOW SHALL YE BELIEVE IF I TELL YOU OF 
HEAVENLY THINGS ? John 3: 12. 

This remark was addressed lo Nicodemus, who 
came to Christ to gain some knowledge of the relig- 
ion he was teaching. Christ presented to his con- 
sideration the great doctrine of regeneration. To 
Nicodemus the doctrine appeared incredible. It was 
a mystery, that transcended his understanding and 
staggered his faith. How can these things be ? 
was his inquiry. Christ, in the words of our text, 
distinctly informed him, that in the religion, which 
he came to establish, there were mysteries; and if 
he found them in earthly things which relate to man, 
much more must he count upon meeting them in 
heavenly things, such as the nature, character, and 
acts of God. The text, then, clearly teaches us, 
that there are mysteries in religion. Our object will 



MYSTERIES. 193 

be in the discussion of this subject, to show, 

I. What are mysteries ; 

II. That there are mysteries in religion ; and 

III. The design of mysteries. 
It is important to. understand, 
I. What are mysteries. 

Mystery, in its broadest sense, is anything wholly 
unknown. But among things wholly unknown 
there are some, which may be, and others that can- 
not be known. Hence mysteries are of two sorts. 

The first class consists of all objects unknown, 
which may be known, either by the natural exercise 
of our understandings, or by the instruction of others, 
or by revelation, and which, when thus made known, 
may be fully understood. In this sense all ob- 
jects are mysteries to a mind just commencing exis- 
tence. The mind of a child looks out at first upon 
a world of mysteries. That thoughts can be rep- 
resented by written characters is to a wild savage a 
profound mystery. The structure and globular form 
of the earth, the distance and magnitude of the 
planets, are to many very mysterious. So it is in 
respect to various mathematical problems, and thou- 
sands of things in the natural sciences. These are 
things, which may be known by exercising the rea- 
soning powers, and by the instruction of others, and 
then they cease to be mysteries. In the same class 
are those objects, which could not be discovered by 
reason, and only by revelation ; but which, when re- 
17 



194 MYSTERIES. 

vealed, may be explained and well understood. 
Such is the doctrine of eternal life in a future state 
— of forgiveness of sins on account of Christ's suffer- 
ings — of justification by faith. 

The second class of mysteries are those, the cer- 
tainty of which when made known or revealed to 
us we know, but the theory or mode of the existence 
of which we cannot comprehend. Such are the es- 
sence of matter, of mind, the union of the two, the 
existence of God, duration, space, and eternity. 
These are known to exist, to be certain ; yet how 
they exist is a profound mystery. They are above 
the comprehension of the human mind, and must re- 
main so. What is here a mystery to one, is a mys- 
tery to all. There are boundaries which the mind 
cannot pass. Within them all is knowable, beyond 
them all is unknown. 

It is, therefore, of the utmost importance to us to 
know where these boundary lines of the mind are. 
Strictly, that only is a mystery, which lies beyond the 
ability of the mind fully to comprehend. In all 
questions of religion, our first inquiry should be, does 
it come within the sphere of the mind's ability to 
understand them. If it does, they are not strictly 
mysteries ; if it does not, they are such. We pro- 
ceed to show, 

II. That there are mysteries in religion. 

This has been denied by many ; and some of the 
friends of religion have been almost afraid to ac- 
knowledge it. Whereas mystery is absolutely nee- 



MYSTERIES. 195 

essary to religion, and the glory of it. For previous 
to all examination, we should naturally expect to 
find mysteries in a revelation from God. The Author 
of the revelations in the Bible is also the Author of 
the revelations in the system of nature. We should, 
therefore, expect to find a similarity in the two. 
One will not contradict the other. In the system of 
nature we are constantly meeting with mysteries — 
mysteries in the strictest sense. What the vital 
principle is, developing itself in every blade of grass 
that grows — in every flower that blooms — in every 
tree that waves in the breeze — in every living ani- 
mal, and which we ourselves feel in every pulsation 
of our hearts, we know not ; nor have we at present 
the power to determine what it is. Mysteries of a 
like nature in the works of God's hands meet us at 
every step. They constitute a very important part 
of this system. Now, when we come to look at 
the revelations of the Bible, we should naturally ex- 
pect to find mysteries there also. If we should find 
none, it would be an insuperable objection to receiv- 
ing them as revelations from God. All the expe- 
rience of mankind, therefore, would lead them to 
expect mysteries in a revelation from God. 

It is no objection to mysteries being found in the 
Bible, to say, that for a thing to be revealed and yet 
remain a mystery is a contradiction — being the same 
as to say, that a thing is revealed and yet not re- 
vealed at the same time. For though it is impos- 
sible for a thing to be revealed, and yet at the same 



196 MYSTERIES. 

time not to be revealed ; yet it is possible that apart 
of a thing may be revealed, and a part of it not be 
revealed. And the part not revealed may constitute 
a profound mystery. Thus many things in relation 
to God may be revealed, such as the holiness of his 
character, his willingness to forgive sins upon re- 
pentance in consideration of the atonement by 
Christ, and his fore-knowledge ; yet there may be 
other things in his nature, which are and must be 
profound mysteries. But yet the fact of their exist- 
ence may be revealed, while the mode of it may be 
a mystery. Thus in relation to man it is a well 
known fact, that he has a body and a soul ; but how 
these exist, and how, especially, when one has none 
of the properties of the other, they can both unite 
and form one conscious individual, is not made 
known either by reason or divine revelation. A 
revelation, therefore, may make known to us the ex- 
istence of a thing, but at the same time tells us noth- 
ing as to how it exists. 

Nor is it a sufficient objection to the existence of 
mysteries in the Bible, to say that they are above 
our comprehension. For the same objection would 
lie against mysteries existing any where, in natural 
religion as well as revealed. Mysteries must neces- 
sarily be above our comprehension. From their very 
nature they are so. And the very fact, that there 
are things above comprehension, renders mysteries 
in religion necessary. How often is the teacher in 
giving instruction to his pupils compelled to allude 



MYSTERIES. 1 97 

to things far above their understanding ? And when 
God makes known to us a part of a great system of 
truths, there must of necessity, since all truths are 
more or less linked together, be an allusion to some, 
which we do not understand, and for the compre- 
hension of which we have no abilities. Had we 
powers of mind to receive all that God can teach us 
respecting Himself, we should no longer be finite, 
but infinite. But as long as we remain finite in our 
capacities, in all God's revelations to us there must 
be many deep mysteries. 

We accordingly find the fundamental article of 
religion a profound mystery. The existence of God 
is the first article of belief, and upon which religion is 
based. Without it, there can be no religion what- 
ever. Yet the existence of God is the greatest of 
all mysteries. How He can exist without beginning 
and without end, moving in innumerable worlds, in 
the midst of myriads of beings, unseen, unfelt by 
them, interfering with none of their free moral acts, 
yet guiding and governing all things according to 
his own will, is the mystery of the universe; "a 
truth at once enveloped in a flood of light, and an 
abyss of darkness." Tt illuminates all worlds — ren- 
ders the existence of every thing else simple and easy, 
but dwells itself in impenetrable obscurity. Who by 
searching can find out God ? who can find out the 
Almighty unto perfection ? Clouds and darkness are 
round about Him. He maketh darkness his secret 
habitation ; his pavilion to cover him, thick clouds= 
17* 



198 MYSTERIES. 

God has revealed to us in his word, that the God- 
head exists in three persons. Distinct acts arc 
ascribed to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. 
Equal honors and worship are claimed for each. 
But we are not informed how the three persons 
exist in one God. This is a mystery. It is no part 
of the intention of the Bible to tell us the mode, in 
which God exists. The fact only of his thus exist- 
ing is revealed. 

We find also in the Bible another profound mys- 
tery — the incarnation of the Son of God. He, who 
was the brightness of his Father's glory, the express 
image of his person, entered into a mysterious union 
with man. The Word, who in the beginning was 
with God, and was God, was made flesh, and dwelt 
among men. But how this union was effected with- 
out the two natures being identified, their proper- 
ties confounded, remains an impenetrable secret. 
We know all that we can know about it. Great is 
the mystery of Godliness; God was manifest in the 
flesh. 

Equally mysterious are the operations of the Holy 
Spirit in the regeneration of the soul. We are com- 
manded to work out our own salvation with fear and 
trembling, while we are distinctly taught, that God 
worketh in us to will and to do of his own good 
pleasure. The moving energy of God upon the soul 
no more throws it out of the sphere of its own ac- 
tion, than the blowing of the wind can move the 
earth from its orbit. But yet how it is, that God 



MYSTERIES. 199 

acts upon the mind, changes its affections, desires 
and purposes, controlling the will, while the mind is 
conscious of perfect freedom and acts without any 
slavery of the will, is a mystery. No one under- 
stands, no one can explain it. The wind bloweth 
where it listeth, and thou nearest the sound thereof, 
but canst not tell whence it cometh, nor whither it 
goeth ; so is every one that is born of the Spirit. 
No one can detect and analyze the power, by which 
the change is produced, nor explain the philosophy 
of the divine influence. 

The resurrection of the dead is another great 
mystery in religion. How the dead are raised up, 
and with what body they appear, is not known. 
Yet the Apostle declares that it should not be thought 
a thing incredible, that God should raise the dead. 
The fact is fully taught, and insisted upon, while a 
mystery envelopes the theory of that fact. 

There are many other mysteries in religion, which 
come under the first class. The day of judgment 
is a secret. Of that day and of that hour knoweth 
no man ; no, not the angels which are in Heaven, 
neither the Son, but the Father. Many of the 
prophecies are so dark, that human ingenuity cannot 
unravel them, till they are actually fulfilled. God's 
providential dealings with us are oftentimes involved 
in deep mystery. The day of our death is likewise 
left in mysterious uncertainty. 

We thus see that God has placed us in the midst 
of mysteries, both as to ourselves, and in relation to 



200 MYSTERIES. 

his own nature and proceedings. Let us then n> 
quire, 

III. What is the design of mysteries ? 

It is two-fold. First, as they respect us, and sec- 
ondly, as they respect God. 

(I) They are designed to teach us humility. We 
are naturally inclined to be proud, to talk much 
about the dignity of human nature, and the great 
range of our faculties. But we early find, that 
though there are broad fields of knowledge, which 
we are permitted to enter and explore ; yet there are 
limits set to our faculties. God has established them, 
and written upon them, Hitherto shalt thou come, 
and no farther. A little learning emptied into the 
human mind oftentimes drives it mad. It foams 
with arrogance and pride. There is a generation, 
oh how lofty are their eyes ! and their eyelids are 
lifted up. Their heads are raised above the clouds. 
They speak forth great swelling words of vanity. 
God gives to such men some problems in mysteries 
to solve. Soon their high looks are brought low, 
their pride of intellect is humbled. They thus find 
that it is only the fool, that rageth and is confident. 

Nothing so takes the inflations of pride out of 
the mind, and sobers the understanding, as the con- 
templation of some of the mysteries of the universe. 
They teach us to take very low and proper views of 
ourselves. After we have done our best to unravel 
them, and cannot succeed, vvc begin to feel our own 
weakness, that our highest wisdom is foolishness 



MYSTERIES. 201 

with God. We learn that we are of yesterday and 
know nothing. When we attempt to fathom the 
depths of God's existence, for which we find no 
measuring line sufficient, and when we look up to 
those towering heights of mysteries above us, which 
no created intellect can scale, or when we stand 
upon the shore of that vast ocean of infinite knowl- 
edge, which no angel's ken has ever scanned, we no 
longer wonder that the Psalmist cried out, Lord, 
what is man that thou art mindful of him, or the son 
of man that thou visitest him ? "A proud man, in 
such a world as this, is a monster, and not to be 
tolerated till he is smitten with a deep sense of his 
own insignificance." 

(2.) The design of mysteries is to teach us confi- 
dence in God. The Bible has told us expressly to 
trust in the Lord, and to lean not to our own under- 
standing. We need to raise our belief above the 
mere objects of sense. God has given to us suffic- 
ient light. We know that He exists the Creator 
and Ruler of all things. He has presented evi- 
dence enough to convince us, that He is a Being of 
perfect wisdom and benevolence. He, therefore, 
calls upon us to trust in Him, although we cannot 
comprehend his ways, nor understand his mighty acts. 
Mysteries are adapted, better than anything else 
could be, to develope this confidence in God ; to lead 
us to feel and rest assured, that though clouds and 
darkness are round about him, yet justice and judg- 
ment are the habitation of his throne forever. We 



202 MYSTERIES. 

are naturally inclined to distrust God — to depend 
wholly upon ourselves. In our pride we think we 
can manage our own affairs and find our own way 
through life. But God by his providence shrouds 
our wisest plans with midnight darkness. He lets 
some avalanche fall across our path — hedges up our 
way, so that we are compelled to distrust ourselves, 
and then we give God our hand, and ask Him to 
lead us where He will. If we walk in darkness and 
have no light, the command is, that we trust in the 
Lord, and stay ourselves upon God. The less we 
know, the greater occasion is there to believe ; the 
less we are permitted to discover of our path with 
our own eyes, the more absolute the necessity that 
we lean upon the hand of God. 

It is important to our happiness, that we learn to 
trust God's word — confide in what He says with the 
fullest assurance. This is a most becoming disposi- 
tion in a child toward an earthly parent ; how much 
more so in us toward our Heavenly Father ? There 
is nothing, which so tries men's faith — so tests their 
character, and brings out the hidden temper of their 
hearts, as mysteries. The great design of our ex- 
istence here is, that we may learn to rely on the 
truth and faithfulness of God. Mysteries in relig- 
ion afford us the opportunity of learning this lesson 
to the greatest advantage. This is the wheel on 
which God will break our pride, and torture our 
scepticism,, till we let go of them and abandon them 
forever. 



MYSTERIES. 203 

(3) The design of mysteries is to increase our 
happiness in Heaven. It will augment our happi- 
ness to pass from the dusk of our earthly existence 
to the broad light of an everlasting day — a day that 
will leave nothing undiscovered to us, which can be 
fit for us to know. Those dispositions will have 
been cultivated and brought out on earth, that are 
necessary to prepare us for the employments of 
Heaven. We shall have been in those states of 
mind, and in that degree of darkness, that will make 
knowledge and light an unspeakable pleasure. We 
shall have greater joy in seeing God face to face, 
from the fact that we now see through a glass dark- 
ly. " All those heights and depths, which we now 
stand so much amazed at, and which so confound 
and baffle the subtlest and most piercing apprehen- 
sion, shall then be made clear, open, and familiar to 
us." The mysteries of our present existence, the 
incarnation of Christ, and the enigma of the resur- 
rection, will be unriddled ; the knots of God's de- 
crees, and providence, and our free agency, untied. 

We come now, secondly, to remark upon the de- 
sign of mysteries in respect to God. 

(I.) This is to show forth his glory. The sacred 
penman declares, that it is the glory of God to con- 
ceal a thing. He concealeth from us the manner of 
his existence. God is a pillar of cloud and of fire 
— dark in the day time, and luminous by night. In 
the works of his hands, and movements of his provi- 
dence, He giveth no account of Himself. These 



•104 MYSTERIES. 

mysteries show forth his glory, in that He thus ap- 
pears infinitely superior to all beings. No one has 
ever fathomed his nature — no one will ever do it. 
Between God and the loftiest intellect in Heaven, 
there is, and will ever remain a measureless, bridge- 
less infinity. The inhabitants of Heaven, clothed 
with immortality, and endowed with powers of 
thought, of which we have no conception, will find 
each moment of their existence some new glory 
beaming forth from the Eternal Throne. As they 
give to thought its utmost vigor, and ascend up, till 
imagination winging her highest flight grows weary, 
they will be filled with fresh astonishment at the 
boundless expanse of the Creator's nature. His 
glory will ever illumine all heights — penetrate all 
depths — fill all space. It will beam with gentle ray 
upon the weakest intellect, and dazzle with its bright- 
ness the strongest. 

God will be to all his creatures an inexhaustible 
source of beauty and happiness. He will ever be 
furnishing them with new material for thought. 
Their souls will be fed, satisfied, but never satiated. 
After they have spent long ages of Eternity in study- 
ing and adoring his character, they will be startled 
with new developments of his wisdom. He will still 
remain the unknown God, dwelling in light and 
glory unapproachable. All holy beings will delight 
to lose themselves in the impenetrable mystery of 
the Godhead. This will constitute the glory of 
Heaven. They will rejoice that God is a mystery. 



MYSTERIES. 205 

His greatness could be brought within the sphere of 
their comprehension only by a contraction of its 
dimensions, by a depression of its native grandeur. 
Should it be prostrated to the level of their feeble 
capacities, it would render God incapable of being 
the magnet of souls. He would cease to be the at- 
traction of hearts — the wonder of the universe. 
Devotion would die in Heaven, and love congeal in 
the hearts of angels. 

(2.) The design of mysteries in respect to God 
is to show his perfect independence- The works of 
his hands are very mysterious. In respect to them, 
He is a wonder-working God. His creatures have 
not yet been able to comprehend the depth of wis- 
dom, that lies concealed in them. An infinity all 
undiscovered is before them. The works of God 
are numerous and wide-spread as the universe. 
They have been submitted, ever since their creation, 
to the scrutinizing inspection of the mightiest intel- 
lects all over his dominions. But what have they 
found out ? Nearly every thing is yet a mystery. 
This shows how perfectly independent is the Crea- 
tor. His wisdom is his own. He consulted no man 
in forming the works of his hands. For who hath 
directed the Spirit of the Lord, or being his coun- 
sellor hath taught Him ? With whom took He coun- 
sel, and who instructed Him and taught Him knowl- 
edge, and showed to Him the way of understanding ? 
His creatures cannot comprehend his works, much 
less can they give counsel in relation to them. He 
18 



206 MYSTERIES. 

has never taken them into his cabinet to devise meas- 
ures for the government of his empire. His mode 
of governing his dominions is involved in great mys- 
tery. None of his creatures understand it perfectly. 
He is, therefore, entirely independent of them in all 
his actions. He brings about plans and events 
wholly unknown and unexpected by them. He pull- 
eth down one and setteth up another. The na- 
tions before Him are as the small dust of the balance. 
He doeth great things and unsearchable ; marvellous 
things without number. He taketh the wise in their 
own craftiness, and the counsel of the froward is 
carried headlong. Thus do the mysteries of his 
providential government show his perfect independ- 
ence. 

" He sits on no precarious throne, 
.Nor borrows leave to be." 

In conclusion, I remark, first, if there are myste- 
ries in religion, then, they can be believed. 

We are every day of our lives exercising a belief 
in mysteries. We believe in the existence and ac- 
tion of the law of gravitation. But what is it ? A 
deep mystery. We believe in the reality of matter. 
One would be deemed insane, who should disbelieve 
it, and act as if it were a mere phantom of the brain. 
Yet no one can tell or explain what matter is in its 
essence. But yet its existence, its essence and prop- 
erties can be believed. We do believe them. What 
light is, whence it has its origin, how it can travel 
with such amazing velocity, how it can be destroyed, 






MYSTERIES. 207 

is a perfect mystery to men ; yet they believe these 
things, and act in accordance with their belief. It is 
a great mystery, how the soul and the body are kept 
together ; yet men believe they are in some way- 
united. Hence, there is nothing in the nature of 
mysteries, nor in the laws of the human mind, to 
render it impossible for us to believe in mysteries. 
The mysteries, therefore, presented in the Bible, the 
doctrine of the Trinity, the incarnation of Christ, 
the union of his divine nature with the human, the 
influence of the Holy Spirit in renewing the hearts 
of men, can all be believed. 

If it is objected, that you cannot believe any mys- 
tery, which contradicts the deductions of reason ; 
I answer, that for the same cause you must refuse to 
believe any thing in nature, or the sciences, that con- 
tradicts the teachings of reason. These contradic- 
tions may be only apparent, not real ; and appear 
such only because of our ignorance, or lack of abil- 
ity to comprehend them.* 

* There are things in the natural sciences and in mathematics, that 
apparently contradict reason. Two wheels are put to revolving. One 
revolves faster than the other. Each of them is to revolve an infinite 
number of times. The one that moves slower, will, therefore revolve 
an infinite number of times. The other, which moves faster, will revolve 
an infinitely greater number of times; hence you will have infinity 
infinitely greater than infinity, which is absurd. So nothing is more ob- 
vious, than that, if two lines, not parallel, be indefinitely prolonged, they 
will necessarily meet. Yet every mathematician knows, that it can be 
rigidly demonstrated, that they never will meet. There are things, then, 
in the natural sciences and mathematics, that appear to contradict reason. 
Yet no one ceases for this cause to believe the great principles of those 
branches of knowledge. It is not wonderful, then, that we should find 
some things in religion, that would seem to contradict the deductions of 
reason. But let us act as rationally in the one case, as in the other, and 
believe the great principles of religion, though they may seem to involve 
an absurdity. We can believe in the one case as easily as in the other, 



208 MYSTERIES. 

I remark, secondly, that mysteries ought to be be- 
lieved. 

No one is at liberty to say in relation to any of 
the doctrines of religion, this is so mysterious that I 
cannot and will not believe it. We believe the tes- 
timony of men in regard to many things, that appear 
to us mysterious. For a still stronger reason should 
we believe the testimony of God. He is the God of 
truth. Whatever statements, therefore, He has 
given us in his word, and however difficult for us to 
understand, we may rest assured, are true. When- 
ever we reject any doctrine of the Bible, because it 
is mysterious, we place our reason above the teach- 
ings of God. We assume a superiority that ill befits 
our station. 

We ought to believe the mysteries of religion, be- 
cause there is great danger in disbelieving them. 
The man who disbelieves the existence of gravita- 
tion, because it is mysterious, and acts accordingly, 
and throws himself down a precipice, finds it dan- 
gerous to disbelieve it. The man, that, because he 
cannot understand what heat is, disbelieves its exist- 
ence and properties, will expose himself to certain 
death. So the man that disbelieves the existence of 
God — the greatest mystery in the universe, the 
Trinity, the divinity of Christ, and the atonement 
which He has made, exposes himself to eternal death. 
He who rejects the doctrines of the Bible, does it 
at his peril. If he persists in it, he will ruin his soul. 
Men cannot get to Heaven but by believing in Christ 



MYSTERIES. 209 

as the divine and almighty Savior. Christ told the 
Jews, If ye believe not that I am He, ye shall die 
in your sins ; Whither I go, ye cannot come. 

I remark, finally, that though there are mysteries 
in the Bible, yet God has not concealed any thing, 
my hearers, that is essential for you to know. 
Whatever is intimately connected with your duty is 
most plainly taught ; whatever is important to your 
welfare is clearly revealed. He hath showed thee, 
O man, what is good. He has taught you, that 
Jesus Christ came into the world as a divine person- 
age. Although you cannot understand the mysteries 
of his nature, a knowledge of which is not at all 
essential to your salvation ; yet you can under- 
stand the design of his appearance in human flesh. 
You know, that He came as the Lamb of God 
to take away the sin of the world ; that He is the 
way, the truth and the life ; and that no man cometh 
unto the Father but by Him. He has told you, " that 
you must have something to do with Christ, either in 
the exercise of faith and trust here, or of surprise and 
astonishment, when you shall lift up your eyes and 
see in the person of a neglected Savior, your offend- 
ed Sovereign and righteous Judge !" He has reveal- 
ed to you your ruined condition — that you are utterly 
lost without the atoning blood of Christ. He has 
placed life and death before you, and urged you to 
choose life. No knowledge is so important to you 
as the knowledge of Christ, and Him crucified. 
You are called upon to believe in Hirn. Have you 
18* 



210 MYSTERIES. 

done it ? Have you laid hold on the hope thus set 
before you ? He has been made unto us wisdom and 
righteousness. He is the propitiation for our sins. 
Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out. 
All this is plain — a path opened to all. Secret 
things belong unto the Lord our God ; but these 
are " things revealed, that belong unto us." He has 
assured you, that if you die in a state of impenitence, 
your doom will be to go away into everlasting pun- 
ishment, prepared for the devil and his angels. Your 
duties have all been made known — knowledge 
enough has been imparted to lead you to shun Hell, 
and guide you to Heaven. See to it, then, that you 
fail not of the great salvation. 



NOTE. 

The preceding sermon was preached at West Machias Oct. 27, 1844 ; 
Brewer, Dec. 8, 1844; Prospect, Jan. 5, 1845 ; 1st Parish Church, Ban- 
gor, Feb. 2, 1845; East Brewer, Feb. 9, 1845 ; 1st Baptist Church, Ban- 
gor, March, 1845; Stillwater, 1845; Bucksport, May, 1845; Pilgrim 
Church, Brooklyn, ]M. Y„ June 15, 1845; Rev. Mr." Lewis' Church, 
Brooklyn, June 29, 1845 ; Rev. Mr. Spear's Church. Brooklyn. June 29. 
1845. 






SERMON VIII 



HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 



I SHALL BE SATISFIED, WHEN I AWAKH, WITH THY LIKE- 
NESS. Ps. ]7: 15. 

This expression of the Psalmist developes the act- 
ual feelings of every true Christian. It lays open 
to our view his heart. We see its strong and heavy 
pulsations for holiness and Heaven. The true Christ- 
ian longs to see Heaven. It is the theme of his 
frequent meditation, the object of his ardent de- 
sires, — the point, where centre all his hopes. He 
looks forward to it with bright expectations. He 
would leave earth, and go to dwell in Heaven. For 
he will there be satisfied ; 

Satisfied with himself, 

Satisfied with the place, 

Satisfied with his associates, 

Satisfied with his employments. 
I. He will be satisfied with himself. 
Thus he could not be on earth. He found him- 



212 HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 

self of the earth, earthly. Sin was the great plague 
of his existence. It was the leprosy of his soul ; 
made him a contagion to the world, a loathing to 
himself. Sin was as rottenness in his bones. It 
withered all his strength. It beclouded his under- 
standing — benummed his moral sensibilities — petri- 
fied his heart. In no step of his earthly pilgrimage 
was he wholly free from its influence. He found it 
in his holiest exercises. Every prayer he uttered 
was tinctured with it. When the wings of faith 
were lifting him up toward God's throne, how soon 
did the leaden weights of sin cause them to droop 
in despondency ! Sometimes he thought himself al- 
most free from its power. But how soon was he 
again entangled in its net — taken captive — some- 
times an easy prey, and bound fast in chains of iron. 
But now he is free from sin — unbound forever from 
its shackles. With what delight will the Christian s 
soul be filled to find himself no longer defiled with 
the loathsome malady. He is holy, like the angels 
of God. He is clothed with immortal beauty. His 
soul reflects the perfect image of his Heavenly Fa- 
ther. No spot bedims its brightness ; no stain of 
guilt disfigures its loveliness. This is what he once 
longed for ; he has now attained it. Many hours he 
spent on earth in tears, and earnest were his prayers 
that he might be wholly free from sin. God had 
promised to cleanse him entirely from it. He has 
done so. Not one of his blessed promises has failed. 
God has brought him to Heaven, and done for him 



HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 213 

all, and far more than He ever told him He would 
do. His utmost desires are fully met. With what 
unspeakable delight does the Christian now gaze 
upon himself ? He can scarcely believe it possible, 
that a creature once so vile is now so lovely — once 
a grovelling worm, now a shining inhabitant of 
Heaven. 

The Christian is satisfied with his intellectual pow- 
ers. He once deemed them almost worthless. 
With the aid of their utmost reach of power he could 
not penetrate the darkness, that surrounded him. 
His mental powers were limited. To whatever 
point he pushed his inquiries, he found barriers erect- 
ed around the mind, beyond which it could not 
pass. Mystery was engraven upon every pebble be- 
neath his feet — written upon eveiy blade of grass 
— whispered by every passing breeze. His powers 
were not only limited, but weak, unable to grasp and 
wield great truths. In the toil of research they soon 
grew weary and faint. But now immortal vigor is 
in his soul. His reason is to be forever active. His 
understanding is expanded. It now scans great 
systems of truths at a glance. It is far reaching 
— can ascend the heights, fathom the depths of the 
most abstruse sciences, and explore the deep myste- 
ries of God's wonderful works. He rejoices that he 
has such powers intrusted to him. He knows their 
value. He sees that he is intellectually fitted to take 
in large and comprehensive views of God's plans 
and government ; and he is satisfied. 



214 HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 

The Christian is further satisfied with himself, be- 
cause he knows, that he is now safe. He is no 
longer in doubt whether his immortal existence is 
to be spent in Heaven, or in Hell. He would value 
his immortality but cheaply, if it must be spent in a 
world of woe. But he has crossed the stormy, per- 
ilous ocean of life. He is safely moored in the haven 
of eternal rest. All the interests of his undying soul 
are safe. Death has left them all untouched. His 
conscious powers survive the grave. They are all 
springing into fresh vigor beyond the tomb. He is 
no longer oppressed with anxieties, no longer ex- 
posed to dangers. 

II. The Christian will be satisfied with the place 
of his residence. 

He heard much of Heaven, while on earth. 
He always supposed that it transcended infinitely 
the brilliancy of earth. But his highest conceptions, 
compared with the realities of the heavenly world, 
were but as the faint glimmerings of the glow-worm 
contrasted with the dazzling radiance of the noon- 
day sun. What admiration fills his soul as he views 
the celestial mansions ! How balmy the breezes 
that float around him ! No blasting mildew, no 
deadly pestilence, no foul miasma, load the passing 
gale. No storms arise, no tempests rage, no whirl- 
winds visit, no tornadoes sweep through those bliss- 
ful realms. 

As he looks over the peaceful plains of Heaven, 
its scenery fills him with astonishment. Earth, ar- 



HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 215 

rayed in verdure, adorned with flowers, diversified 
with hill and dale, forest and glade, fountains and 
running streams, engirdled with the ocean, over- 
canopied with heaven, so smiling, so fruitful, is infi- 
nitely mean, compared with the beauty and loveli- 
ness of the celestial world. No scorching heat is 
there nor chilling cold. 

"JNe rising sun his needless beams displays; 
No sickly moon emits her feeble rays, 
The Godhead there celestial glory sheds ; 
The exalted Lamb eternal radiance spreads." 

" Before the throne a crystal river glides 5 
Immortal verdure decks its cheerful sides ; 
There the fair tree of life majestic rears 
Its blooming head, and sovereign virtue bears, 
There the Redeemer lives, all bright and glorious, 
O'er sin, and death, and hell, he reigns victorious." 

There is the city of the living God. It hath no 
need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it ; 
for the glory of God doth lighten it, and the Lamb is 
the light thereof. 

The scenery of Heaven is illumined by the Divine 
Presence. God is everywhere, but He does not re- 
veal Himself everywhere. " The glory of God fills 
the earth, but there are localities in the universe 
where it shines forth with peculiar splendor. The 
glory of the Lord filled the ancient temple, but it 
dwelt peculiarly and visibly above the mercy seat in 
the most holy place. God is everywhere, but his 
Shekinah is not every where." 

III. The Christian will be satisfied with his asso- 
ciates. 



216 HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 

On earth he is compelled to mingle with persons 
of every condition and character. The circumstan- 
ces of his life throw him into the midst of the vile. 
Oaths and horrid blasphemies are uttered in his ears. 
The hypocrisy of men benums his sympathies. His 
feelings do not gush forth toward them with that 
freeness which he would desire. He cannot give full 
vent to the tenderness of his heart. His feelings are 
chilled by the cold selfishness of a godless world. 
Few love the Being, whom he loves. He is pained 
with the irreverence of God exhibited by his associ- 
ates, their heedlessness of his laws, the stupid indif- 
ference with which they treat his offers of pardon, 
and their recklessness of his threatenings. Sur- 
rounded with such associates, the anguish of his soul 
often prompts the expression of the pious Job, I 
would not live alway. He would not always live 
where his Savior's name is blasphemed, where his 
companions are those that hate God. 

But in Heaven the Christian will be satisfied with 
his associates. He will be associated with the spirits 
of just men, made perfect, — those who have washed 
their robes and made them white in the blood of the 
Lamb. In that heavenly family there will be no 
Judas. " The Christian will have no apprehension 
that any traitor has taken his seat by his side." 
Pure love will fill every heart, — kindness beam from 
every eye. No suspicion will darken the counte- 
nance, no envy jaundice the soul. Each will be- 
hold in his fellow a brother and a friend. 



HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 217 

There the Christian will meet his pious relatives 
and friends, whom the hand of death had separated 
from him. Those, whom he loved on earth, he will 
love with warmer affection in Heaven. The strong 
attachments of earth, that link the hearts of parent 
and child, of husband and wife, of relatives, of 
friends, are not sundered by death. The affections 
die not. They will live in Heaven. The Christian 
will be satisfied, when he is permitted again to greet 
the goodly companions of his earthly pilgrimage in 
the mansions of bliss ; satisfied, that no power will 
hereafter separate them. Their farewells have all 
been uttered ; their fellowship will continue uninter- 
rupted forever. How enrapturing the thought ! 
An eternity to spend together, and this too, where 
they are forever free from sin, amid refulgent glory, 
and with the full assurance that, 

"No gnawing grief, no sad heart-rending pain 
In that blest country can admission gain ; 
No sorrow there, no soul tormenting fear, 
For God's own hand shall wipe the falling tear." 

There also will the Christian enjoy the company 
of holy men of old. - The venerable patriarchs, the 
prophets, the apostles, the glorified saints, and the 
martyrs are there, and the angels of God. With 
these he is to spend his Eternity. Who would not 
exult to be honored with such friendships? He will sit 
down with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob ; and hear 
them tell of their earthly pilgrimage. He will con- 
verse with Adam, and Enoch and Noah, with Moses, 
19 



218 HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 

David, and Elijah, the antagonist of idolatry ; with 
Isaiah, the seraph of prophecy, and Daniel, the pat- 
tern of pious firmness. And there too will he talk 
with Paul — learn from his lips something of those 
deep mysteries, that he found so difficult to under^ 
stand while on earth. There will be the zealous and 
ardent Peter, and there the affectionate John, the 
beloved disciple. The great and holy of earth will 
gather around him to welcome him to their society. 
How happy will the Christian be with such asso- 
ciates ! How different from those of earth ! How 
delighted will he be to greet the glorious company 
of martyrs, who have long been resting in Heaven ; 
and hear them rehearse the early history of the 
church — its persecutions, and its triumphs. How 
blessed will be his intimate friendship with such 
men as Luther, Melancthon — Newton and Baxter, 
and Bunyan, and Leighton — Brainerd and Edwards ; 
men who shone as the brightest luminaries of earth, 
and are now the jewels of Heaven. And not only 
these, but he will have for his associates the angels 
of God, who shouted for joy at creation's birth, who 
have long lived in Heaven, and are familiar with the 
records of Eternity. 

To be elevated to such society will fill the Christ- 
ian's heart with joy. He will wonder how it was pos- 
sible, that a creature so obscure and mean could be 
exalted to such high honors. He will be astonished 
also to think how he could cling so strongly to earth, 
when Heaven had such attractions. And these are 



HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 219 

to be his associates not for one hour, not for a brief 
year, but for Eternity ! With them he is to dwell 
forever ! With what joy the thought thrills his 
soul ! From the fulness of his heart he will say, Jam 
satisfied. 

IV. The Christian will be satisfied with the em- 
ployments of Heaven. 

He will not spend his Eternity in idleness. The 
inhabitants of Heaven have something to do. But 
its employments are far different from those of earth. 
There the Christian possessed two natures, the soul 
and the body ; and though the former transcended 
infinitely in value the latter, yet the^ wants of the 
body were constantly pressing and urgent. Much 
of his earthly existence was of necessity spent in la- 
boring for the meat, that perisheth. To provide 
for himself and others cost him toil and fatigue. In 
laboring for the welfare of his fellows — in visiting 
the sick — the wretched, — in working for the pros- 
perity of the church, his strength often failed him. 
From all such labors he is relieved in Heaven. 
There they rest from their labors, and their works 
do follow them. But this rest is by no means of a 
quiescent nature, a reposing in dronish inactivity. 
It is a rest from struggles, from fears, from pains, 
from conflicts. Forever free from these, the Christ- 
ian is prepared for other employments. He will 
find much to do in praising God for his salvation. 
He will have many songs of gratitude to sing. 
Much of the employment of Heaven will consist in 



220 HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 

worshiping and praising Jehovah. The Apostle 
John tells us that he beheld in vision, and, Lo, a 
great multitude, which no man could number, of all 
nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, 
stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed 
with white robes, and with palms in their hands, 
and cried with a loud voice, saying, Salvation to our 
God, who sitteth upon the throne, and unto the 
Lamb. And all the angels stood round about the 
throne, and about the elders, and the four beasts, 
and fell before the throne on their faces, and wor- 
shiped God, saying — Amen, blessing, and honor, 
and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and glory, and pow- 
er, and might, be unto God forever and ever. 

The Christian will be employed with the heavenly 
hosts in singing the song of Moses and the Lamb. 
The theme of the Savior's love will never grow old 
— that song, which none but the redeemed can learn, 
will always be new. It will be sung by unnumbered 
millions of redeemed sinners, responded to by count- 
less millions of angels, and be as the voice of many 
waters and of mighty thunderings. 

But there will be other employments for the Christ- 
ian in Heaven. The various powers of the mind 
will there find their appropriate work. None of its 
faculties will be destroyed. But they may be so 
enlarged in the sphere of their action, that while the 
heart is pouring forth a ceaseless song of thankful- 
ness, the intellectual powers may be busy in the deep 
study of the Creator's works. 



HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 221 

Though the mind, when it enters the celestial 
mansions, may have its powers so greatly enlarged, 
that it can easily comprehend the mysteries of earth ; 
yet it will find that Heaven has its mysteries also. As 
the mind climbs up toward God's throne, each series 
of ascent is invested with new and astonishing mys- 
teries. Between the infinite and finite mind there 
will be an immeasurable distance. However high 
toward God created intellects may ascend in the long 
periods of Eternity, infinity will ever deride them. 
Gabriel has, from the moment of his existence, been 
studying upon the great problem, " What is God" 
and has not yet been able to solve it. God will for- 
ever remain the great unknown. 

In the study of God, then, the Christian will find 
extensive and delightful employment. He will be 
furnished with occupations, that will call for the im- 
mortal vigor of all his powers. Fields of illimitable 
extent will be spread open for him to explore. And 
still new scenes will be projecting themselves upon 
the mind, as varied, as boundless, as numerous, and 
wonderful, as the worlds of the universe, which God 
has made. 

No one of the faculties of the soul will be left 
without employment. They will be continually de- 
veloping in energetic, harmonious action. The rea- 
son, — the memory, — the imagination, — the affec- 
tions, — the sympathies, — the patient perseverance, 
the lofty aspirations of the soul, will all be wanted 
in Heaven. 

19* 



222 HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 

After the Christian has arrived in Heaven, God 
will continue to manage the universe just as He al- 
ways has done. With Him there is no variableness 
nor shadow of turning. He has heretofore carried 
on the affairs of his government more or less by sec- 
ond causes,and He will still continue to do so. God 
will always have his creatures engaged in executing 
his plans and commands. His angels are all minis- 
tering spirits. God's family is a large one ; and in 
the management of it He has a system. The strong 
are to assist the weak — the learned to instruct the ig- 
norant — the old to guide the feeble footsteps of infan- 
cy. Many are to go on messages of love ; some are to 
speak words of comfort, of encouragement, and of 
joy. Others will be commissioned to inflict judg- 
ments upon the enemies of the divine government. 
Heaven has no drones. 

There the Christian will find himself and his as- 
sociates all thought, all action, all zeal, all love. He 
will delight to study the history of other orders of 
beings — to go on errands of mercy to distant worlds, 
rejoiced to explore the wonders of the universe. 
But chiefly of all, he will delight in bowing in ado- 
ration before the throne of the Eternal ; in worship- 
ing the blessed Savior, who redeemed him from sin, 
and death, and Hell ; and made him an heir of eter- 
nal life, and immortal glory. It will be pleasant to 
sing his dying love, and to tell the story of redemp- 
tion to the listening inhabitants of Heaven. This 
will be his joy — with this he will be satisfied. 



HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 223 

In conclusion, I remark, first, If such be thy home, 
Christian, then eagerly seek it. 

Cast aside every weight, and the sin that doth so 
easily beset thee, and run with patience the race that 
is set before thee, looking unto Jesus, the author and 
finisher of thy faith. Be not entangled in the bond- 
age of this world. Seek to grow in grace and in 
the knowledge of God. Set not thy thoughts and 
affections on things of earth. Lay not up for thy- 
self treasures here. Thy treasure is in Heaven i 
Seek not for honors on earth, when thrones and 
crowns await thee in Heaven. Live as a stranger 
and pilgrim here ; thou art a sojourner of earth — a 
seeker of another country, even an heavenly one. 
Live by faith on the Son of God. Thine enemies 
are many ; thy conflicts must be numerous. Thy 
foes are fierce, thine encounters will be bloody. 
Their attacks will be unexpected ; thou must watch. 

Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of 
God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil 
day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, 
having your loins girt about with truth, and your 
feet shod with the preparation of the Gospel of 
peace ; above all, taking the shield of faith, where- 
with ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of 
the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and 
the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. 
God will be with thee — thy Redeemer ever liveth— 
his promises are sure. 

I remark, secondly, Heaven, Christian, is thine. 



224 HEAVENLY SATISFACTIONS. 

Those celestial mansions are prepared for thee. 
Thou art a child of immortality, an heir of glory. 
Thou shalt outride the storms of earth. Thy foes 
shall all be be slain ; thou shalt throw away thy 
shield, unbind thy helmet and lay thine armor off. 
The conflict shall be past, — thou shalt sing the 
song of triumph. Thou shalt wear the crown of vic- 
tory, purchased by the precious blood of the Son 
of God, — thou shalt enter the gates of the New Je- 
rusalem, — thy feet shall stand on Mount Zion above 
— thou shalt be a fellow citizen with the saints in 
glory. Thou shalt be where the wicked cease from 
troubling, and the weary are at rest. Peace as a 
river shall fill thy soul. Thou shalt behold the king 
in his beauty. Thou shalt be satisfied. 

NOTE. 

The preceding sermon was preached in West Machias, Nov. 1844 ; 
Prospect, Jan. 5,1845; Pilgrim Church, N. Y.June 11th, 1345: First 
Congregational Church, Brooklyn, N.Y. * * 1845. 



MISCELLANIES, 



MISCELLANIES 



An examination of some of the popular 
views, which sustain the practice of war. 

The vices of another age, says a learned and dis- 
tinguished historian, astonish and shock us ; the vices 
of our own age become familiar, and excite little 
horror. This remark is equally true in relation to 
opinions. Every age has had its opinions and sys- 
tems of moral action. Some of them have been 
copied from the faint delineations drawn upon the 
tablet of the human heart by the dark and shadowy 
hand of nature ; others have been gathered amid the 
twilight of experience ; while the most are but the 
wild deductions of unguided passion, and have too 
often been written out in frightful characters with 
human blood. Occupying a position at so great a 
remove from the scenes of other ages, and cut off 
from all local interest in their sentiments and feel- 
ings, it is not surprising, that we experience a degree 
of astonishment and of horror even, when we exam- 
ine some of their prevalent views and principles of 



228 OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 

action, and learn the sad results of error united to 
the worst passions of the human heart. 

The dark pall of oblivion has, indeed, been thrown 
over many of the mournful effects of these opinions ; 
yet enough remain disclosed to our view to fill us 
with sorrow, that so many popular, but false princi- 
ples should have beset in every age the path of man. 
Popular delusions have beguiled multitudes. Na- 
tions have followed with unhesitating confidence 
the conjured phantoms of their imagination, until 
they have found themselves in a wilderness of mis- 
takes and dangers, or hurrying down the precipice of 
certain ruin. 

We wonder at the superstition and mistakes of 
other ages, — the monstrous absurdities, that be- 
came their ruling principles ; but if we turn to the 
present age, we shall find that a complete delivery 
from all popular delusions and pernicious errors can- 
not, by any means, be the boast of our times. Many 
opinions, at the present day, which pass among men 
as current as the laws of nature, if examined by the 
plain principles of common sense, or weighed in the 
balances of the sanctuary, would be found wanting. 

There is too frequently little, if any, inquiry into 
the correctness of popular opinions and the moral 
principles involved in them. Assuming them as 
correct, many, under the sanction of public favor, 
have committed the most flagrant crimes, while they 
supposed they were doing God service. Most take 
their views from others, without troubling themselves 



OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 229 

as to their truth. Reason is too often set aside. 
Hence it is that many sentiments prevalent in society, 
are the results of excited, stormy feeling, rather than 
the deductions of conscientious inquiry and sound 
judgment. It is from this want of investigation of 
popular opinions, that many systems of error maintain 
for so long time, their hold upon the public mind. 
This is among the causes, why war, which is not 
only a popular delusion, but one of the most wither- 
ing curses that ever blasted the heritage of God, has 
traveled down through the successive ages of the 
world to the very confines of the Millenium ; and still 
lives, and is here permitted to erect its altars, and sac- 
rifice its victims amid the noon-day splendor of Christ- 
ianity. It is then to the examination of some of the 
popular views and principles, that sustain the practice 
of war, that we invite your attention on this occasion. 
These views and principles are either correct or 
false. They are founded upon truth, both as it exists 
in the nature of things, and as exhibited in the Bible, 
or they are not. The practice of war is consistent 
with reason and fully sustained by the precepts of the 
Gospel, or it is not. If the former be true, then the 
Caesars, the Napoleons, the Wellingtons, have an 
undisputed claim to be numbered among the greatest 
benefactors of our race ; and it becomes the duty of 
all to encourage men to " devote themselves, with 
increased vigor, to the lawful and just work of hu- 
man destruction." On the other hand, if the expe- 
diency, if the lawfulness of war can not be clearly 
20 



230 OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 

shown, nor sustained by reason and the principles of 
divine truth, then it follows, that nations have been 
pursuing a most inexpedient and unjust policy — that 
it is the duty of the church to put off her "garments 
rolled in blood," and henceforth remain free from 
the blood of all men ; that there is a claim upon 
every one to give to the subject a dispassionate con- 
sideration — to endeavor to divest the public of its 
prejudice and its intemperate zeal for war, that the 
monstrous custom of human butchery may be ban- 
ished from every civilized, christianized nation, and 
from the world. 

But before entering upon the direct examination 
of some of the popular views that sustain the prac- 
tice of war, it is important to learn its true origin, as 
this may aid in testing the correctness of the views 
and principles, which are offered as justifying its 
practice. 

Looking then at war as it has always exhibited 
itself, we find its prominent characteristics to be, 
excessive love of applause, ambition, treachery, 
deep seated revenge, unbounded selfishness, decep- 
tion in all its forms, and unmitigated cruelty. 
These are the prominent characteristics of every war 
recorded upon the page of history. They are its 
elements. No war has ever been carried on without 
them. Were these feelings to cease their operation 
in the human breast, war would become an impossi- 
bility, and never again disgrace our world. Tracing 
up these feelings to their source, we find their true 



OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 231 

origin to be in the disordered state of the propensi- 
ties and affections. They cannot spring from the, 
intellect, for the intellect is characterized by no emo- 
tions, or feelings whatever. Nor can they be discov- 
ered in the higher or moral nature of man. Con- 
science necessarily stands opposed to every excess of 
passion, and every species of known injustice. The 
elements of war, then, are not found in either of 
these departments of man's nature. Nor do they 
exist within the circle, that bounds the proper limits 
of the propensities and desires. It is only when 
these limits are passed, that the elements of war are 
generated. Beyond them the wild tempests of pas- 
sion rage in furious tumult. It is the region of 
storms, of lightnings and thunderings — rocked 
by earthquakes, the home of desolation. 

The fact, then, that war has its origin in the inor- 
dinate desires and corrupt passions of the heart, is 
an insuperable objection to the correctness of those 
principles, that sustain its practice. For, by no 
process of reasoning, can it ever be made to appear, 
that it is right to indulge and cherish the unnatural 
affections of the heart. It is a state of the feelings, 
which reason teaches is wrong — against which con- 
science protests, — which the Bible condemns, and 
for the indulgence of which the judgments of Heaven 
fall thick upon the heads of guilty men and nations. 
Yet these feelings of the heart, with all their corrup- 
tion and guilt, are excused, justified, or defended by 
the popular views and principles, which uphold the 
system of war. 



232 OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 

The first of these views, which we propose to ex- 
amine, is, that war is necessary for the punishment 
of nations. 

This principle of war, at first view, appears so fu- 
tile, that we should not present it, were it not, that 
men of the graver cast, and even profound theologi- 
ans, bring it forward as an argument of no inconsid- 
erable strength. Such persons exhibit a high degree 
of anxiety, lest, should wars cease, the Ruler of the 
universe would not find means to sustain his moral 
government. They seem to fear, lest the thunder- 
er should be bereft of his bolts, his lightnings be 
stolen from him ; and as the consequence, the na- 
tions of the earth would " set their mouths against 
the heavens." It is indeed true, that God makes 
use of war as a means for punishing nations. Bnt 
it does not, therefore, follow that war is right ; or 
that nations can engage in it without guilt. Things 
are so constituted, that in the common course of 
events, crime is always punished. And when a na- 
tion, by engaging in war, throws off the restraints 
upon vice, and lets loose the corrupt passions with- 
in, it must of necessity experience the punishment 
of its folly. But it is a necessity, which is under 
its own control, and may therefore be avoided. 
So that however great this necessity may be, which 
cannot be incurred by any people without guilt, it 
can never render war expedient or right. But the 
means of the moral Governor of the world are not 
limited to one particular way or thing. The ele- 



OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 233 

ments are under his control. The yawning earth, 
the howling tempests and mad tornado are ministers 
of his justice. He can shut up the windows of 
heaven, until the earth becomes as iron, and the 
heavens above are as brass. He can cause pesti- 
lence and death to brood over the nations, until 
their beauty and strength are consumed awaylike 
a moth. 

" He calls for famine ; 
And the meagre fiend blows 
Mildcvifrom between his shriveled lips, 
And taints the golden ear." 

Another prevalent view in favor of war is, that 
national honor cannot be preserved and maintained 
without it. 

National honor has been " the ivhetstone of the 
sword " for ages. Men have believed it right to 
brave every danger — to peril life and liberty to se- 
cure and defend it. But it is difficult to tell, in 
what this honor consists. It may include any thing, 
and every thing, connected with the military prow- 
ess of a nation. 

According to it, 

"Every deed 
Hath sanctity, if bearing for its aim 
The freedom of our country ; and the sword 
Alike is honored in the patriot's hand, 
Searching midst warrior-hosts the heart, which gave 
Oppression birth 5 or flashing through the gloom 
Of the still chamber, o'er its troubled couch 
At dead of night." 

It is the boasted vindication of a nation's charac- 
20* 



234 OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAH. 

ter from every injury and every insult — the applause 
of the world won by deeds of slaughter and carnage. 
But is such honor of so much importance, as to ren- 
der it right to sacrifice myriads of lives to obtain it ? 
Does it compensate for the ruin it brings upon a 
nation's commerce ? Is it a sufficient reason for 
driving the ploughshare of desolation over the fair- 
est portions of the earth ? Is it a sufficient reason 
for laying waste villages, burning cities, turning a 
fruitful paradise into a barren wilderness ? Is it of 
so great value, that it can be purchased only by the 
agonies, shrieks and dying groans of thousands 
stretched upon the battle plain 1 Is there no price, 
that can be paid for it but the low moans and heart- 
rending grief of widows, — the tears and agonizing 
cries of orphans ? Can it be obtained in no other 
way than by surrendering our dearest liberties, and 
trampling upon our laws and constitutions ? Must 
the rights of conscience, the principles and institu- 
tions of our religion, all be sacrificed for it ? Is there 
any thing in natnre- requiring this ? Does reason 
teach that it is either right or expedient ? Or has 
God so constituted the world that national honor can 
only be obtained at such a vast expense ? No. 

A nation's real honor consists in the practice of 
virtue — acts of justice — in enduring wrongs with 
patience — promoting the welfare of other nations by 
deeds of kindness — in endeavoring to allay animos- 
ities and secure peace among all — in advancing lit- 



Of THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 235 

erature and fostering the arts and sciences. These 
are the virtues that command respect and admiration; 
the gems, that render radiant a nation's brow. 

What is it, that gives character and permanence 
to a nation's fame ? Is it its military exploits, its 
heroes and warriors ? What would there be to ad- 
mire in the history of ancient Greece and Rome, 
were it not that we meet the instructions of the dis- 
tinguished philosophers of Athens — listen to the 
strains of their poets — are moved by the eloquence 
of Cicero, — are quailed beneath the thunders of 
Demosthenes ? What but their names gave to these 
republics a splendor, that eclipses the mightiest ef- 
forts of all modern nations ? 

What adorns the character of France and Eng- 
land, and renders them venerable 1 Were the names 
of Napoleon, Cromwell, Nelson, and Wellington, 
blotted from the pages of their history, their national 
honor would remain unstained, their splendor untar- 
nished. It is such men as Laplace, Cousin, Milton, 
Locke, Newton, Johnson, Stewart, Davy, Burke and 
Brougham, that render these nations renowned, and 
give them a character that is respected by the world. 
These are names, that will be cherished and remem- 
bered long after those of heroes and warriors are for- 
gotten. They will ever remain the pyramids of their 
nation's glory, majestic in the midst of ruins, gilded 
with light, the admiration of future ages. 

But there is another prevalent principle urged in 
sustaining the practice of war, that national safety 



236 OF THE POPULAR VIEW3 OF WAR. 

and liberty cannot be secured without it ; that war 
is therefore expedient, as the only means of national 
defence and freedom. 

Could it be clearly shown, that the practice of 
war was always expedient, this would not justify a 
nation in engaging in it, if its practice is condemned 
by the principles of the Bible. But so far is war 
from being expedient, that it is an act bordering up- 
on insanity for a nation ever to engage in it. 

There is always uncertainty attendant upon it. 
The nation, which engages in it, for self-defence, or 
liberty, pursues a most uncertain policy. When the 
sword is once unsheathed, it is impossible to tell 
where, or upon whom it may fall. Those, who ap- 
peal to it for justice or freedom, may be the first to 
be cloven down by its stroke. The issue of a battle 
may turn the nation's destiny. " The fate of a bat- 
tle," said Napoleon, " is the result of a moment — of 
a thought. The critical moment arrives, a mental 
flash decides the day, and the forces in reserve ac- 
complish the object." 

As a means of securing justice, it can never be 
depended upon. Justice can only be upon one side. 
But some unforseen circumstances may give the vic- 
tory to the opposite. Scotland, injured and wrong- 
ed, flew to the sword for aid and redress. But it 
only brought down the thunder-bolt of war upon its 
own head. Poland, loaded with chains, and galled 
with oppression, strove to free itself from its bond- 
age, and maintain its liberty. And if ever the plea 



OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 237 

of justice was with a people,, it was with them. But 
they trusted their cause to the sword, and appealed 
for aid and success to the God of battles. With 
equal propriety might the midnight assassin, with 
revenge boiling in his heart, pray for aid from Heaven 
to avenge the injuries he may have received from 
the hands of the man for whose blood he thirsts. 
God answered not their prayers. They were dashed 
to the ground by the herculean arm of Russia, and 
the chains of slavery were again riveted more strongly 
upon them. Thus has it been in hundreds of instan- 
ces. To such a system does a nation commit its 
happiness and liberty, when it rushes to battle to de- 
fend them. It is an act of hazard, of folly. It is 
for a nation to cut from its moorings, and in the 
midst of a tempest, put forth upon a raging sea, 
lashed into fury by hurricanes, where nothing can 
be gained, but every thing may be lost. 

But if war is the means, as has generally been 
supposed, of national safety and liberty, we should 
naturally expect to find those, who have depended 
upon it for security, sitting under their own vine and 
fig-tree, with none to molest or make them afraid. 
If war secures the existence and liberties of a peo- 
ple, why have so many warlike nations gone down 
into the grave of oblivion ? Egypt was once full of 
chariots and horsemen, but where now is the long 
line of its dynasties ? What simoom withered their 
glory and dried up their strength ? What convul- 
sion of nature shook down the massive walls of Bab- 



238 OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 

ylon — sunk the thrones of the Nebuchadnezzars, 
and made the halls and palaces of that great city 
the abode of dragons ? Why does not Rome now 
exist in her ancient glory ? What but the sword 
clove down her strength, cut asunder her iron sinews, 
and pierced her mighty heart ? 

Nations may for a time be successful in war, and 
raise themselves to a height of power — but 

" They, that stand high, have many blasts to shake them, 
And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces." 

Athens, with her allies, fought successfully the 
battles of Marathon and Salamis ; but the haughti- 
ness, which the Athenians exhibited in consequence 
of the success of their arms, gathered about them the 
jealousies of the other members of the confederacy. 
Soon the flames of civil war were lighted, and a long 
train of conflagrations followed in quick succession — 
each kindled afresh from the expiring embers of the 
preceding, until at last Greece became exhausted, fell 
an easy prey to her enemies, and tamely submitted 
her neck to the yoke of the Ottoman. 

War never secures, for any length of time, the 
safety and happiness of a people. It lias kept an 
earthquake in France for ages, and made Europe a 
Golgotha. % The ends, for which it is undertaken 
are never accomplished. After many bloody battles, 
and the sacrifice of thousands of lives, nations find 
that guns and swords do not come in contact with 
the mind, that their difficulties, after all, must be 
settled by reason. And they come together, like 






OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 239 

reasonable beings, and by negotiation lay the foun- 
dations of future peace and happiness. 

It is safe for a people never to engage in war. 
Where this system has been practised, it has never 
been known to fail in affording security and protec- 
tion. It has preserved for thirteen hundred years a 
little republic situated within the limits of Italy. 
The surges of war have broken all around it, yet it 
has remained secure. 

The same system has given equal protection in the 
deserts of Africa, and in the wilderness of America. 
The spirit of forbearance and peace, as exhibited by 
the first settlers of Pennsylvania, was so omnipotent, 
as godlike, that it held in check the furious passions 
of the wild savage ; and he bowed before it with rev- 
erence and awe. While the clouds of war rolled 
in thick gloom and darkness over New England, 
and the Indian's warhoop woke up the silence of 
the wilderness, the followers of Penn were enjoying 
the sunshine of peace, and reclining in safety beneath 
the banner of love. 

The nation, that throws aside its arms, and re- 
solves to act upon principles of strict justice, becomes 
the common friend of others. Its character for up- 
rightness and integrity secures the respect, and its 
kindness and forbearance win the affection of all. 
These build around it a wall more impregnable than 
the towers and battlements of Babylon, and a defence 
more safe than shores lined with cannon, or gates of 
brass and bulwarks of iron. 



240 OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 

A fourth popular view is, that war is right from 
the fact, that there is implanted in man by nature 
an instinetive feeling of resentment, whenever inju- 
ry is inflicted. And to strengthen this position an 
analogy is drawn from what is seen in the possession 
and conduct of animals. The lion possesses strength, 
the bullock horns, the bee a sting, and even the dove 
will fight for its young. As to that part of the view 
drawn from analogy, we would remark,that were the 
analogy carried still farther, we might quite as easily 
prove, that it isright to carry on wars of aggression, of 
conquest and plunder. For, the brute creation have 
the means and the disposition to attack and destroy 
the weaker and more defenceless animals. So that 
the argument in this case proves too much to be a cor- 
rect one. It is true, the lion has strength, the bul- 
lock horns, and the bee a sting ; but man has some- 
thing superior to all these — he has reason. It was 
given him as a " defence." Wisdom is better than 
strength, or weapons of war. 

But there may be a secret impression remaining in 
the minds of many, that though the analogy attempt- 
ed in the case mentioned fails,yet this instinctive feel- 
ing of resentment does render war, in cases of self- 
de-fence, right. 

That there is this feeling of resentment implanted 
in man, we do not pretend to deny. It is an impor- 
tant principle and necessary to man's existence. 
But there is a distinction to be made between its 
instinctive and its voluntary action. It is by over- 






OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 241 

looking this marked difference in its instinctive and 
voluntary action, that any error in the case has arisen. 

Instinctive resentment always acts suddenly with- 
out thought and reflection. It is neither praise, nor 
blame-worthy, being simply innocent. The design 
of it is to preserve man, when exposed to sudden 
danger in situations, where thought and reflection 
would come too late for his rescue. It is plainly evi- 
dent, that there is no instinctive action of the prin- 
ciple of resentment, when a nation engages in war ; 
for a nation is always supposed to act upon reflection. 

But with voluntary resentment the case is far dif- 
ferent. This acts in connection with reason and 
after consideration. It being a voluntary action, 
there is accountability connected with it, whether it 
be the action of a private individual, or of a nation. 
Its action may be right or wrong. It is right, when 
it is in accordance with reason, with enlightened 
conscience, and the teachings of Revelation. It is 
wrong, when it proceeds in opposition to these, and 
runs into excess. In order to check and restrain its 
improper exercise, nature has set landmarks all along 
the boundary, that limits its action. When it passes 
beyond these, pain and guilt are the certain conse- 
quences. 

This principle of resentment, then, in its right 
action, prompts a nation, in connection with reason, 
to avoid all occasions of offense to others ; under 
the guidance of conscience, to act in perfect justice 
and good faith to all ; and in accordance with the 
21 



242 OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 

instructions of revealed truth, to recompense none 
evil for evil ; but to live in peace with all men, and 
overcome evil with good. 

In its wrong action, it urges a nation to revenge ; 
to demand an eye for eye, and a tooth for a tootli ; 
to hate and destroy its enemies, to return evil for 
evil. But in every case of such unlawful exercise 
of this principle, nature remains true to her duty, 
and brings upon such a nation merited punishment, 
giving it the bread of affliction to eat, and blood to 
drink. 

The last popular view, which we shall examine, 
is that war is justified by the Bible. 

In every case of uncertainty as to a course of 
conduct to be pursued, the Bible should be the ulti- 
mate test. And whatever reasons there may be 
from any other source either in favor of, or against 
such a course of conduct, the testimony of the Bible 
respecting it should be received as decisive. 

We have already seen, that war has its origin in 
the inordinate action of the propensities and desires 
of the heart, — that it is an unnatural state of the 
feelings. It is destructive to all the social disposi- 
tions. It is condemned by nature, both within man, 
and ivithout him. 

"Even the dull rock claims kindred of its own : 
The tree, left single, spreads her widowed arms 
To share with poplar mates her charms 3 
Rills to each other's bosoms steal with care, 
Blend into one, and flow more quiet there." 

We have a right, then, from the nature of the 






OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 243 

case, since war is totally opposed to man's natural 
state, and condemned by the laws of his being, to 
suppose that it must be inconsistent with Revelation ; 
since Revelation and nature are from the same di- 
vine source. For it cannot be supposed, that a per- 
fect being acts inconsistently with himself. 

We find accordingly, that the Bible as a system 
of morals is opposed to wars of every kind. It holds 
in check the dispositions and feelings, which are 
necessary to the practice of war. It teaches us to 
do good, to succor the oppressed. But war teaches 
us to inflict evil, to overwhelm with ruin the de- 
fenseless. The system of morality taught by the 
Bible will not suffer us to promote our dearest inter- 
ests by any fraudulent acts. The maxims of war 
applaud them, when used for the destruction of our 
enemies. The command of the Bible is, Thou 
shalt not kill. But the object of every war is to 
murder; knowingly, deliberately, kill. The law of 
God says, Thou shalt not steal ; but plunder forms 
a part of the business of every war. We are com- 
manded to remember the Sabbath day, and keep it 
holy. But in time of war this command is never 
thought worthy of being obeyed. There is not, in 
fine, a moral principle in the whole Bible, which is 
not violated in carrying on war, even in cases of 
self-defense. A government engaged in it does 
virtually repeal the whole moral law of God. It 



244 OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 

steps in between God and his creatures, sunders the 
ties of obligation, which bind them to Him, and 
sends them forth upon a course of legalized crime 
and murder. It permits men to commit acts of 
wickedness, which, if done in time of peace, would 
bring down upon them the iron mace of the law. 
It can not be, then, that the practice of war can be 
justified by the system of morality taught in the Bi- 
ble, which is far more rigid in its requirements, than 
any civil enactments. 

The spirit of Christianity, as well as the moral law, 
is opposed to war. The principles of the moral law 
are designed to restrain and limit the action of the 
passions, and thereby subdue them. The spirit of 
Christianity aims to accomplish the same object, by 
cherishing opposite and counteracting feelings. 
The instructions of the Gospel are, be merciful, be 
courteous, render to no man evil, be gentle, showing 
all meekness to all men. It commands us to live 
in peace, to put away all bitterness, wrath, anger, 
with all malice. It says, Love your enemies, bless 
them that curse you; do good to them, that hate you, 
and pray for them, that despitefully use you and 
persecute you. Such is the spirit, that Christianity- 
breathes, — such the feelings it would cherish. It 
would check every emotion of anger and revenge, 
by inculcating kindness and forgiveness. It would 
bind men together by the strong bonds of affection 
— shed upon every heart the cheering influences of 
love — gladden every countenance with joy — erect in 



OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 245 

each breast an altar, from which the pure incense of 
gratitude and the flame of holy devotion should go 
up to Heaven, which angels would admire and God 
approve. Christianity would quell every turbulent 
passion, and make us abound in patience, meekness 
and long suffering. It teaches us not to limit our 
feelings and acts of kindness to the narrow sphere 
of our own state or nation ; but to send forth our 
thoughts to others. Its object is to produce such 
feelings of benevolence toward all men, as no cir- 
cumstances may change. 

But how different are the feelings and dispositions 
engendered by the practice of war. There is none 
of the meekness, gentleness and forbearance, none 
of the love of enemies and forgiveness of injuries, 
required by the Gospel. But every malignant pro- 
pensity of man's nature is let loose. The wild pas- 
sions are permitted to sweep in furious tempests 
across the soul ; revenge and cruelty are unchained, 
to prowl like tigers over the land and riot in blood. 
There is a reckless disregard of all law, but that of 
brute force. The noise and tumult of war drown 
alike the voice of conscience and of God. How 
can it be possible, then, for Christianity to uphold 
and justify such a system of sin ? How can the 
spirit of war and the spirit of Christ meet and flour- 
ish together in the bosom of the same nation ? 

But it may be said, that in the views of Christian- 
ity presented, we do not recognize the obvious dis- 
20* 



246 OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 

tinction there is between personal revenge and public 
war, the pacific principles of Christianity admitting 
of no application to national circumstances. 

To suppose that Christianity gives directions to 
man individually, without laying any restraints upon 
him in a political condition, is to assume a defect in 
it, which might prove fatal to its progress. For, as 
a private person, one might be a Christian ; but as a 
public man, he might worship idols. As individuals, 
we cannot innocently steal or murder, but as public 
men we can do either. What progress would Christ- 
ianity ever make, if its principles are never to be 
applied to the action of governments ? To show 
how men in their public acts are able to put off their 
responsibilities, to divest themselves of their duties 
and obligations as individuals, is a problem, which 
we shall leave for others to solve. To us it seems 
as difficult as it would be ts divest themselves of 
their personal identity. It is worthy of remark, how- 
ever, that there is not a private virtue, which is not 
called for in public life, under higher sanctions and 
for more important purposes. 

The inquiry may here be raised, if the precepts 
and the spirit of Cristianity are binding equally upon 
individuals and governments ; is it safe for a people, 
in its dealings with other nations, to act upon these 
principles ? We answer, yes. It is as safe as the na- 
ture of things will permit, as safe as is consistent with 
man's probation, as safe as God designed it should be. 
If the Gospel was intended to be applied in the fullest 



OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 247 

•extent to nations as well as to individuals, then it is 
safe to apply it. Why should it not be so ? Has 
God devised a system of moral government, which 
it is unsafe to put into operation ? Has Infinite 
Wisdom formed a code of laws, which, if obeyed 
by a nation, would bring certain destruction upon it ? 
Has the Creator given his creatures general laws of 
conduct, which cannot be applied, only in particular 
cases, without ultimate danger ? Are the laws in 
the natural world so well adapted to their design, 
that the stars in perfect safety, and 

" Silent as the foot of time 
Pursue their destined courses/' 

while the moral universe is bound together with cob- 
webs, and liable at any moment to go to ruin ? Was 
there ever an instance known, where either a private 
individual, or a nation, pursuing the path of duty, 
with a humble reliance on God, did not find it to be 
the path of safety ? Did the three men, in the midst 
of the burning fiery furnace, discover that the laws 
of God could not stand the test of fire ? Did Dan- 
iel, who confided in God, obtain no deliverance 
when cast into the den of lions ? When the king 
of Israel trusted in Jehovah for protection, did the 
Assyrian besiege his city, or shoot an arrow upon its 
walls ? 

Was there ever an Atilla, or Genghis Khan, who 
poured hordes of Goths and Vandals upon the peace- 
ful shores of an inoffensive and unwarlike people, 
who were without the means of defense, and who 



248 OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 

trusted in Heaven for security ? Did a large body 
of Friends, during the rebellion of 1798 in Ireland, 
when the flames of civil war burst forth all around 
them, and rolled in frightful waves of desolation over 
that unhappy land, find no protection or safety ? 
Has it ever been the case, that when men's ways 
have pleased the Lord, He has not made their ene- 
mies to be at peace round about them ? 

Is there any ultimate danger, then, when an indi- 
vidual, or a nation acts fully up to the require- 
ments and spirit of the Gospel? If there is, the 
proof of it should be shown ; and the truth pro- 
claimed abroad, that the principles of the Bible are 
not calculated to accomplish the ends they design, 
or secure the safety and highest happiness of men. 

But it should be remembered by those, who are 
yet unwilling to embrace the pacific principles of 
the Gospel and place themselves under the protect- 
ing arm of the Almighty, that every other system of 
defense is fraught with equal and even greater dan- 
ger ; that no other source of strength can be relied 
on with confidence ; that it stands recorded on the 
page of Inspiration, as well as experience, that it is 
a vain thing to trust in an arm of flesh ; that ex- 
cept the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh 
but in vain. Therefore cease ye from man, whose 
breath is in his nostrils, for wherein is he to be ac- 
counted of? 

In conclusion, I make one remark, — that from the 
testimony of the sacred Scriptures, and from the 



OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 249 

great change of opinions, at the present day, as to 
the expediency of wars, we may rest assured, that 
the sword shall not devour forever. The Bible 
points us to the time, when men shall beat their 
swords into plough-shares, and their spears into 
pruning hooks ; when nation shall not lift up sword 
against nation, neither shall they learn war any 
more. God will yet make wars to cease to the 
ends of the earth ; He will break the bow and cut 
the spear in sunder, and burn the chariot in fire. 
God is overturning and will continue to overturn 
till He shall come, whose right it is to reign. The 
indications among the nations, at the present time, 
are certainly favorable to the progress of universal 
peace. Discoveries in the arts and sciences — im- 
provements in the modes of travelling, and a more 
general diffusion of knowledge, are bringing men 
together. They are becoming better acquainted 
one with another, — their sympathies and friendships 
are binding them together in harmonious action. 
The subject of peace is receiving more general at- 
tention among the nations of Europe. Wars are 
becoming unpopular. There is encouragement, 
therefore, to hope that the cause of peace, the same 
that thrilled the hearts of angels, when with notes of 
joy they heralded the birth of the Prince of Peace, 
will yet be triumphant ; that the song of peace on 
earth, which at first, was heard by the shepherds 
of Bethlehem, and rolled sweetly along the vales of 
Palestine, till it broke among the hills of Rome 



250 OF THE POPULAR VIEWS OF WAR. 

upon the astonished ears of heroes and mighty war- 
riors, will yet become the universal chorus of earth ; 
that Christianity will yet be seen, walking our 
world, clad in the shining habiliments of Heaven — 
dispersing the dark clouds that have so long hung 
around our horizon as sackcloth, and closing with 
her own hand the temple of Janus ; — that the hand- 
fuls of corn, which have been planted upon the tops 
of the mountains, will yet spring forth, and grow 
like the cedars and the fruit thereof shake like Leb- 
anon : — 

"One realm of peace the universe become, 
Mankind a brother-hood, and earth a home." 



NOTE. 

The preceding lecture was delivered before the Peace Society of 
Bowdoin College, at its Anniversary July 23, 1810; Before the Lyceum 
of Calais, Me. Dec. 18-10; at Milltown. St. Stephen, N. B. Aug. 1841 
at Cumberland Centre, * * 1841 ; at Walnut Hill,N. Yarmouth,* * 1841 
at Lewiston Falls, ** 1841 ; at Union, Nov. 1812 3 at Bluelnll,Feb. 1843 
at West Machias, Nov. 24, 18 i4. 



THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 



What are the grounds and limits of our respon- 
sibilities IN THE PROPAGATION OF TRUTH ON THE 
SUBJECT OF SLAVERY? 

Truth is the reality of things, whether they exist ob- 
jectively or subjectively; that is, in the natural or mor- 
al world. It is the great instrument which we are to use 
in laboring to advance any true reform; the great mor- 
al lever, by which we are to shake down the battle- 
ments of tyranny, and pry up its massive bulwarks. 
The possession of the truth, therefore, is of vital im- 
portance to those, who wish to effect any great moral 
or political changes. Every effort, where this ele- 
ment is wanting, will be characterized by weakness, 
and end in delusion. It must constitute the granite 
basis upon which the whole superstructure must rest. 
But the possession of truth, in relation to any great 
moral or political subject, is not the only thing of 
importance. It is of greater importance to know 
how to rightly use it. The materials may be at 
hand, but it requires some knowledge, some art and 
skill, to cause them to assume the form of the solid, 
durable, and magnificent edifice. The truth may be 
misused — bunglingly applied, and thus be productive 



252 ' THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 

of great mischief,by those who do not understand the 
true grounds and limits of the responsibilities, con- 
nected with its propagation. The true friends of the 
slave may, in this way, through their ignorance do 
much injury. We propose, therefore, to show what 
are the true grounds and limits of our responsibilities 
in the propagation of truth. 

And we remark, in the first place, that the mere 
possession of truth does not lay any responsibility 
upon us to propagate it. To some this position 
may, at first, appear extremely erroneous ; but a 
little reflection will lead to the acknowledgment of 
its truth. For, let it be considered, in the first 
place, that the truth, in relation to any subject or 
event, may relate wholly to one's self, and in no 
way concern any other individual. I may, for in- 
tance, have gathered up a certain amount of histori- 
cal truths, — gained a knowledge of many events and 
incidents, which occurred thousands of years ago, 
and which are, in no way, connected with the pres- 
ent state of affairs, and are altogether unimportant 
in themselves. The possession of these truths does 
not place one under the least obligation to propa- 
gate them. I may also have discovered some 
truths in relation to the exercises of my own mind 
— certain bad habits, that need correcting — certain 
notions and feelings that pertain wholly to myself 
— certain acts of my life, either good or bad, which 
in no way concern any other one than myself; but 
the possession of the truth in relation to these things, 



THE SLAVERY QUESTION, 253 

can not lay one under any obligation to make them 
known— to propagate them abroad. If this were 
the case, then, every individual is under obligations 
to tell all that he knows about himself, whether it 
may interest any other person, or not, or however 
injurious it may be to himself. 

Let it be considered, in the second place, that the 
truths in possession may relate mostly to others, and 
their promulgation would be injurious to them, and 
of no profit to the community at large. There are 
many truths, in relation to domestic affairs — to the 
proceedings of associated bodies, the propagation of 
which would be exceedingly painful to them, and 
contribute in no way to the happiness or virtue of 
the community. And should they be divulged, the 
confidence of man in his fellow man would be shaken 
to its very foundation — all connections of friendship 
would be dissevered — positive repulsion would every 
where exist, leading men to seek a refuge from socie- 
ty in the seclusions of solitude. But, if the mere 
possession of truth obligates an individual to propa- 
gate it, he must do so, whatever the evils may be, 
which may flow from the act. The bare fact, that 
I know that an individual has broken the laws of 
my country — has murdered a fellow being — or 
that the master of slaves uses them in a most barba- 
rous manner, lays me under no obligation to pro- 
claim these things abroad. The obligation no more 
exists in this case, than the knowledge of certain acts 
of generosity and benevolence, done in behalf of in- 
22 



354 THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 

dividuals or the state, creates an obligation, on my 
part, to proclaim such acts. There may be obliga 
tions resting upon us to make known the criminal 
conduct of the master toward his slave, and all the 
injustice that is heaped upon him ; but they arise 
not from the fact that we have possession of the 
truth ; but, as we shall show, from other reasons. 

This leads us to remark, that the true ground of 
our obligation to publish the truth rests upon the 
will of God. There must be a command from Him> 
expressed in some way, indicating to us his will, be- 
fore it can be our duty to make known the truth. 
The will of our Creator is the only and ultimate rule 
of action. This, therefore, alone lays us under ob- 
ligation to declare the truth. 

But the question arises, how are we to know what 
is the divine will ? The answer to this inquiry is, 
that we may discover it by the light either of the 
sacred Scriptures, or of nature. There may be ex- 
press commands, contained in the Bible, for propa- 
gatingthe truth. Thus Moses and the prophets of 
old were commanded to declare the truth, to speak 
unto the people all the words of the law. They were 
to set the trumpet to their mouth, and boldly give 
utteranceto the truth, in notes that could not be 
misunderstood, whether men would hear or forbear. 
In like manner, the disciples of Christ were com- 
manded to go into all the world, and preach the 
Gospel to every creature. Their obligations to pub- 
lish the truth arose wholly from the divine command. 
For He had previously forbidden them to proclaim 



THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 255 

the truth of his Messiahship, the fact of his transfig- 
uration, and many of the miracles, which He per- 
formed. But now the things, which they had heard 
in the ear, they were " to proclaim upon the house- 
top." The obligation resting upon the church, in 
every age, to make known the great moral truths of 
Christianity, has arisen solely from the divine com- 
mand. Whenever, therefore, we hold in our pos- 
session great moral truths, for the propagation of 
which we find an explicit divine command, clearly 
revealed in the Bible ; that command is the ground 
of our obligation to publish those truths. 

But it is evident to every one, that the Scriptures 
of divine truth do not contain specific directions for 
our conduct, in every circumstance of life. And even 
were the precepts of the Bible multiplied a hundred or 
a thousand fold; still, if we are to depend on specific 
directions, we must, in numberless instances, be is 
doubt what course of conduct to pursue. Hence, 
in ascertaining our duty to publish the truth, we are 
to be guided, in a great measure, by the general 
will of the Creator. This general will can be known 
from the general laws of nature, physical, social and 
moral. Because, these laws originated with the Cre- 
ator, and are but certain expressions of the divine 
will. So that, whenever we act in accordance with 
them, we may rest assured, that we are obeying the 
divine will, as well as securing our own highest hap- 
piness. And we are under moral obligation to yield 
obedience to these laws, not because they tend to 



256 THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 

produce the greatest amount of happiness ; but, from 
the fact, that this tendency shows us what is the 
will of our Creator. These laws are no less imper- 
ative, nor are our obligations to yield obedience to 
them any the less, than in cases where precepts arc 
directly revealed. 

We find no direct precepts, revealed in the Scrip- 
tures, by which we are commanded to publish any 
new truths, which we may have discovered in the 
arts and sciences. But yet, he, who discovers any 
such truths is bound to make them known, not be- 
cause there is any direct precept in the Bible com- 
manding him to do so, but from the great and gener- 
al laws of humanity and benevolence. A knowl- 
edge of the physical laws is of the greatest impor- 
tance ; for, we can be happy only as we obey them. 
And we can obey them only as we know what they 
are. The general laws of humanity and benevolence, 
then, revealed by nature, and the general precept of 
Scripture,that "whatsoever ye would that men should 
do to you, do ye even so to them," indicate clearly 
that it is the will of the Creator, that new discover- 
ies should be published. God has put it in the pow- 
er of the discoverer to confer a special benefit upon 
others. Should he withhold from mankind this 
knowledge, so essential to their welfare, he cannot, 
by any means, be innocent. He is responsible in a 
great measure for all the evils, which may result 
from that ignorance, which he might have prevented. 
So the law of general utility, the voice of humanity 



THE SLAYERY QUESTION. 257 

and benevolence, command the individual, who 
has discovered a remedy, which will cure an epidem- 
ic, to publish the remedy. What if Jenner had not 
published lire discoveries of the effects of vaccina- 
tion ? What if the inventor of the compass had 
concealed his invention ? or Franklin and others had 
refused to make known the laws of electricity ? 
What if the art of printing had been kept a secret ? 
What if Newton had determined not to publish his 
discoveries of the great laws, which control matter 
and bind world to warld ? Who can tell the conse- 
quences of such a course of proceedure ? the evils, 
that would have befallen the race ? and the darkness 
in which they would now have been enveloped ? 
And would not these men have been, in a measure, 
responsible for all the evil results, flowing from that 
ignorance which they could have dispelled ? 

But the obligation to propagate great moral 
truths rests upon the same basis, as the obligation to 
publish any physical truth. They both rest upon the 
will of God. Hence, if we hold in our possession 
truths, which relate to the interests of our fellow 
men, to their happiness, either present or future ; 
the will of God, as indicated in the general laws of 
humanity and benevolenca, distinctly commands 
us to publish them to the world. And we are under 
obligations to do so. unless there is a special com- 
mand revealed to the contrary. If we have the Bi- 
ble in our hands, containing revelations of divine 
truths, unless positively forbidden, we are, by the 
22* 



258 THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 

general laws of the divine will, under obligations to 
make its truths known. For those truths are of vital 
importance both to the present and future happiness 
of the whole race. So, great natural truths, which 
relate to the rights of man, his right to life, to pos- 
sess himself, to the pursuit of happiness, to the pos- 
session and enjoyment of the results of his own 
efforts, either bodily or mental, should be published. 
For, what truths are of greater importance to every 
individual of our race, or are more intimately con- 
nected with, and essential to his happiness ? He, 
therefore, who has these great truths in his possession, 
is commanded, by the general laws of humanity and 
benevolence, which reveal the will of God, to pub- 
lish them boldly, whenever and wherever the general 
good requires it. If they are denied, he should vin- 
dicate them. If they are violated, he should make 
known that violation. To violate any of these nat- 
ural rights of man, is a burning shame, one of the 
greatest injuries, which it is in the power of man to 
inflict upon his fellow man. Hence, whenever these 
rights have been violated, as in the case of murder, 
or highway robbery, if the knowledge of the fact is in 
our possession, we ought to make it known, to com- 
plain of this infringement of right, that it may re 
ceive its due punishment. So when we know of 
the slave-holder's conduct, of his violating all the 
natural rights of man, we ate bound to complain of 
his villanous acts, to publish anew these great natural 
truths, and boldly defend them. The will of God 
requires us to do this. 



THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 259 

So, if the right to think and speak our thoughts, 
in relation to these great principles, is denied or vi- 
olated by others, we should publish and reiterate 
these truths, and solemnly protest against their vio- 
lation. The consequences resulting from a neglect 
to publish and vindicate those great moral truths, 
which relate to the rights and happiness of man, 
would be most disastrous. What if they had never 
been proclaimed or defended at Rome and in Greece ? 
Where would have been their political freedom ? 
What if Wickliff, Huss, Luther, Zuinglius and Lat- 
imer, had never agitated any of these truths? 
What dawning light would have ever broken upon 
the midnight of Papal darkness ? And what if Clark- 
son, and his confederates, having a knowledge of 
the truth, had held their peace ? When would that 
legalized banditti of men-stealers have been con- 
quered ? and those numerous and powerful perpetra- 
tors and advocates of rapine, murder and slavery, 
have been compelled to cease from their acts of bar- 
barity ? What would have been the present politi- 
cal state of our own country, had none been found, 
in the days of Washington, Adams and Franklin, to 
stand up and boldly declare those eternal truths, 
upon which our social and political freedom is based ? 
There is, then, an obligation resting upon every one, 
to give utterance to such truths, and, especially, at 
the present day, when they are openly denied and 
\iolated by the partisans of slavery. 

It may be objected to the views already presented, 



260 THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 

that it is not unfrequently the case, that the propa- 
gation of the truth is attended with injurious effects, 
that the publishing of a new discovery, while it is a 
benefit to some, may seriously injure others, who by 
this means, will be thrown out of present employ- 
ment, and their property nearly if not wholly lost to 
them ; that the publishing of great moral truths, 
also, may result in the sacrifice of a vast amount of 
wealth — leaving many in the depths of poverty ; 
serve to stir up wrath, and promote contentions, dis- 
union and oftentimes bloodshed : that these are 
indications of the general will of the Creator, that 
we should not publish the truth. 

This objection, so far as it goes, is a valid one. 
For, if the mere possession of the truth forms no 
reason why we should proclaim it, and lays no obli- 
gation upon us to do so ; certainly the injurious re- 
sults of truth cannot obligate us to publish it. If 
injury will be done to some individual, or company 
of individuals, by making known a new discovery, 
this is a reason certainly why we should not make 
it known. For, we have no right to injure any 
one's employment or property, either directly or in- 
directly, without a sufficient reason for so doing. 
Have we, then, a sufficient and proper reason ? 
This can be determined by taking into view, not 
merely the particular, but the general consequences 
of the act. The particular consequences may, in 
many instances, be injurious to some, while the par- 
ticular consequences to others, and the general con- 



THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 261 

sequences to all, may be in the highest degree bene- 
ficial. Thus the invention of some new mechanical 
instrument, or a cheaper and more expeditious loco- 
motive power, might injure those at present engaged 
in making and using steam machinery ; but the in- 
vention, while thus injurious to individuals, may be 
of the greatest benefit to the whole race, augment- 
ing essentially their happiness. The temporary good 
of a part should never be put in competition with 
the permanent good of the whole. This, then, 
plainly shows us what is the divine will in all cases 
of this kind. 

So, in relation to the propagation of any great 
moral truth, the injurious effects flowing from it, is a 
reason for not publishing it. We have no right, by 
publishing the truth, to injure the feelings or cause 
pain in the bosom of any one, without a satisfactory 
reason. To unreasonably and unnecessarily inflict 
pain upon the heart of any one, is as great a viola- 
tion of right, as to take his property without his 
consent, or unjustly injure him in any other way. 
And we have no right, by publishing the truth, to 
enrage others, so as to produce discord and vio- 
lence, unless we are compelled to do so from satis- 
factory and urgent reasons. Thus we have no right 
to wound the feelings of the slave-holder, by ex- 
hibiting the atrocities of slavery in their real form, 
without reasons for so doing. It will, beyond doubt, 
produce pain to tell him the plain truth — that he is 
committing one of the greatest crimes, which it is in 
the power of man to commit, that he is violating 



262 THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 

those eternal laws established by the will of God ; 
and it may even stir up the unholy passions of his 
heart, and kindle them to a flame. But are we to 
refrain from telling him the truth on account of its 
producing this pain and exciting his anger ? We 
can determine this point by inquiring what these 
truths are and what the general consequences would 
be, if they are not published. Truths, which relate 
to man's right to himself, to life and the pursuit of 
happiness, to the right to labor for himself, to im- 
prove his intellectual powers, to read the word of 
God, to enjoy, in all respects, equal liberty with 
other men, when he has done nothing to forfeit this 
right, are in the highest degree important. No 
others take precedence of these. None can be of 
greater interest to men as a race. They are gener- 
al truths, reaching to every human being on the 
earth. What, then, if the publishing of them does 
cause much evil, much excitement ? What if these 
truths, on account of their conflicting with his own 
interests, excite his rage, and cause him, in his fury 
to belch forth the bitterest gall, the very dregs, the 
vilest slime of his depravity ? These are only the 
particular consequences. The general benefits, re- 
sulting from the propagation of such truths, infinite- 
ly outweigh these particular evils. " Truths of this 
kind, being indispensable to man considered as a mor- 
al being, are above all expediency of this sort, all ac- 
cidental consequences. For, as sure as God is holy, 
and man immortal, there can be no evil so great as 



THE SLAVERY QUESTION 263 

as the ignorance or disregard of them. It is the 
very madness of mock prudence to oppose the re- 
moval of a poisoned dish, on account of the pleas- 
ant sauces or nutritious viands, which would be 
lost with it." 

When we wish to ascertain our duty to proclaim 
truths, which lie at the very foundation of the hap- 
piness of man, in his social, political and religious 
relations, we are not to take into the account the 
particular evils, that may attend the promulgation of 
these truths. For, these truths are so closely linked 
with the highest happiness of beings, that they of 
themselves indicate the general will of the Creator, 
that they should every where be known, and every 
where obeyed. Opposition to them will undoubted- 
ly exist. Urged on by the selfish feelings of his own 
heart, the slave-holder, and all, who are personally 
interested in slavery, will make vigorous opposition 
to these truths, and especially to their propagation. 
For, they are, from the circumstances of their situa- 
tion and the preponderance of selfishness in their 
hearts, truth-haters. They know full well, if these 
great truths, in relation to human rights, are permit- 
ted to be promulgated, that they, being so simple in 
their nature and such plain axioms, must at once be 
obvious to the weakest understanding, and compel 
the assent of every man. Hence the anxious fears on 
the part of slave-holders. Hence the bitter hostility 
exhibited to the propagation of these great primary 
truths. They have made and are making great 



264 THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 

efforts to suppress these truths. They would put 
out these lights in the firmament of heaven, that 
they may the better perpetrate their deeds of cruelty 
and acts of barbarism, in the midnight darkness, 
that would ensue. But, thanks to Heaven, these 
lights are situated far above their reach. They may, 
for a few brief moments, be bedimmed by the 
clouds of dust and the dark angry tempests of pas- 
sion, with which the slave-holder has filled the air 
and covered his horizon ; but these heavenly lumina- 
ries still continue to shine, in all their radiance and 
calmness, far above the storms, that rage below. 
" As the tempest and thunder affect not the sun nor 
the stars, but spend their fury on stones and trees 
below," so will these wild storms and dark clouds 
expend all their strength and let fall their fiercest 
bolts upon the devoted heads of slave-holders. 

All their efforts to oppose and destroy these great 
moral truths, will prove abortive. They might as 
well think, by hurling clubs and brickbats into the 
air, to thrust the planets of heaven from their orbits, 
as to suppose that by the means they are now em- 
ploying, they can annihilate those great truths they 
so much hate. 

On account of the strong opposition made to these 
great and eternal principles of right and justice, ma- 
ny among us boldly assert that we should forbear to 
proclaim them. But no position taken can be more 
fallacious or more contrary to moral duty, than this. 
Let the truth be maintained, though the heavens 



THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 265 

fall. If we are to cease from propagating the truth, 
because a strong and vigorous opposition is made to 
it, then we may as well give up, at once, all great 
and important truths, however dear. For, when 
was there ever any truth maintained against error, 
that did not call forth fierce opposition ? Did ever 
justice and equity take off the hinges and throw 
open the palace gates of cruelty and despotism, 
when they were not greeted with blasphemies and 
the bitterest curses ? Were any great and important 
truths ever proclaimed in the ears of truth-haters, in 
any age of the world, when those who gave utter- 
ance to those truths, were not violently opposed, and 
called by the most opprobrious epithets ? When 
Christ was upon earth, did not truth-haters then 
oppose him ? And to render their opposition the 
more effective, did they not make use of the most 
reproachful language ? What did they call Christ 
but a partisan of Beelzebub ? a traitor, plotting the 
overthrow of civil government ? a notorious friend of 
publicans and sinners ? a most abandoned wretch, 
carousing with wine-bibbers, that he might gain an 
influence, and thus the more successfully carry out 
his dark designs ? what did? the truth-haters, in the 
days of the Apostles, say of them ? They were 
drunken fanatics. What did Paul receive but mock- 
ery from the truth-haters of Athens ? And what did 
Luther experience from truth-haters, in the early part 
of the Reformation ? He gave utterance to the 
simple truth — the truth-haters all over Europe run 
23 



266 THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 

mad — they raved and foamed with fury, and every 
part of Christendom was filled with their clamorous 
howlings for his blood. Truth-haters, in the days 
of Clarkson's earliest in efforts propagating the truth 
did not fail to oppose him by every means in their 
power. They left no measures untried to arrest the 
progress of light. They were determined that truth 
and justice should be bound in chains, and kept as 
felons in the prison-house of darkness forever. Nor 
have the truth-haters of the present day ceased to 
rend the air with their loud out-cries, and to make 
the welkin ring with their notes of alarm, whenever 
the plain, simple, eternal principles of truth have 
been uttered in the ear of the nation. They have 
kindled their alarm-fires on every mountain and hill- 
top all along the boundaries of the land of slavery, 
and the overseer's horn has loaded every gale with 
blasts of defiance and death to the hateful fanatic, 
who dares to croak of liberty and the equal rights 
of man. And why is all this alarm, why all this 
excitement and the numberless mobs in our land, that 
have filched New England of her glory ? Simply 
because this plain, obvious truth has been uttered — 
that every man has a right to the enjoyment of life, 
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, which express- 
ed in the language of Scripture is, thou shalt love 
thy neighbor as thyself — whatsoever ye would that 
men should do to you, do ye even so to them. The 
truth embodied in these words, is the thing which 
slave-holders have attempted to destroy — the thing, 



THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 267 

which the upholders of slavery wish to annihilate. 
Cease to proclaim this truth, and the trump of sla- 
very would quickly sound — " To your tents, O Isra- 
el." 

Not a few, at the present day, hold those who 
have proclaimed abroad primary truths affecting sla- 
very, responsible for all the excitement, the ebullition 
of passion, and mobs that have taken place in our 
land within the last few years. They charge upon 
them the guilt of all these evil results. But are 
these the natural results of the truth or of opposi- 
tion to the truth ? Truth, like a deep, broad, and 
quiet river, rolls onward without noise and without 
a ripple upon its surface ; but men undertake to 
arrest its progress — plant themselves in the midst of 
the stream, attempt to breast its strong current, throw 
obstructions across its onward course ; and then cry 
out, what is all this wake about here ? why all this 
noise, tumult, dashing and raging of the waters? 
why this deafening roar of the cataract, and these 
earth-quake shakings of the ground 1 We say to 
them, take away the obstructions you have thrown 
across these quiet waters, and they will wind their 
onward course gently as the evening zephyr glides 
through the quiet vale. 

Nothing is more meek and peaceful than truth 
when unopposed. But when it is met by str@ng 
and obstinate opposition, its power is accumulative, 
its native strength is put forth, and it speaks with a 
voice like that of many waters. Then to attempt to 



268 THE SLAVERY QUESTION. 

check its progress, or hush its voice, is utter folly. 
You might as well attempt to turn back the waters of 
the Niagara, or bid them cease their deafening thun- 
ders. 

Whenever, then, evils arise from publishing the 
truth, before we cease from proclaiming it, we should 
inquire whether these evils are fairly chargeable upon 
the truth ; or do not arise solely from an unjust and 
unholy opposition to it. This opposition is not the 
standard by which our duty is to be determined. 
The consequences,arising from this opposition, should 
not deter us from declaring the truth. For, no great- 
er evils can possibly befall the race of man, than the 
denial and open violation of those eternal, unchange- 
able principles, which lie at the very foundation of 
man's happiness. All the opposition, that has been 
made by slave-holders and others to arrest and de- 
stroy the truth, will utterly fail of its design. The 
truth will still live. And it will ever remain the same 
" venerable fabric, which has stood forages, splendid 
and immutable ; which time could not crumble, nor 
persecutions shake, nor revolutions change ; which 
has ever stood, like some stupendous and majestic 
Apennine, the earth rocking at its feet, and the 
heavens roaring around its head, firmly balanced on 
the base of its eternity — the relic of what was ; the 
the solemn and sublime memento of what mustbe." 



%* The preceding article was published originally in the Bangor Ga- 
zette in the latter part of the year 1842. 



SKEPTICISM. 



ITS ORIGIN AND INFLUENCE. 

Truth gains access to the mind in various ways, 
and under different forms, always presenting itself as 
the reality of things. It produces the conviction 
that things are really what they appear to be. The 
sources of this conviction are the senses, intuition, 
consciousness, reason and testimony. These are the 
grounds of all certainty. Aside from these, there is 
no possibility of knowledge. The state of mind, at- 
tendant upon the exercise of the senses and the va- 
rious mental faculties, is belief. Belief may vary in 
strength, as the amount of evidence offered proceeds 
from slight presumption up to obsolute, or moral cer- 
tainty. In some minds these grounds of belief do 
not produce conviction, the evidence presented does 
not satisfy them. Hence doubts arise ; doubts as to 
the reality of matter, the existence of mind and of a 
Supreme Being ; doubts in relation to the authentic- 
ity of the Bible, and the great truths of religion. 
Such breathe an atmosphere of skepticism. They 
fly off from the primary laws of our nature. They 
break away from the great balancing principles of 
truth, and their thoughts under the influence of pas- 
33* 



270 SKEPTICISM. 

sion, are driven about like dust in the whirlwind, 
until reason is bereft of its power and lies prostrate. 
Upon such minds argument is lost. To such, evi- 
dence is offered in vain; truth, though writ with sun- 
beams, is thick darkness. 

Skepticism does not come from the intellect ; it 
emanates from the heart, from the depraved affec- 
tions, and vicious habits. It is the mist, that 
rises up from the stagnant region of the natural affec- 
tions, and gathering in thick clouds settles down up- 
on the understanding. And it pervades not only the 
low vale of humble minds, but shrouds with impen- 
etrable darkness the summits of the loftiest intellects. 

Under the forms of atheism, infidelity and heresy, 
skepticism assumes a terrific aspect. It takes away 
the fear of God, cuts off accountability and eternity 
from the soul ; puts out the hope of immortality 
— consigns man to the grave of oblivion, and locks 
up his existence in eternal sleep. It unspiritualizes 
the soul — lets in upon it a deluge of materialism. 
It sweeps away every vestige of civil government, 
and permits men to run reckless of law. It extin- 
guishes the light that beams from the Bible, — dries up 
the fountain of the social affections, and pollutes 
with its poison the cup of domestic bliss. It com- 
pletely unsystematizes the whole course of things, 
and introduces universal chaos. 

In its application to civil government its effects 
are more clearly seen. The fear of the Supreme 
Being lies at the foundation of every successful form 
of human government. It is the corner stone in the 



SKEPTICISM. 271 

temple of liberty — one of the pillars upon which it 
rests. Strike from the minds of men the belief in 
the existence and overruling power of the Supreme 
Being, and there is no possibility of sustaining civil 
authority. No republican form of government can 
exist for a day, when this belief is once blotted out. 
The history of ancient republics affords clear evi- 
dence of this truth. The founders and rulers of 
Greece and Rome, in order to the establishment and 
the permanency of their civil institutions, found it 
necessary to introduce a system of religious belief in 
the existence and controlling agency of a divine 
mind. They took care that the people were instruct 
ed as to the existence of such a being, that they 
might learn to fear his power. And whether they 
believed in this system themselves or not, in its re- 
lations to civil government they understood its im- 
portance. They knew what were the elements of the 
human mind — that it was impossible to restrain the 
perverseness and lawlessness of men, without appeal- 
ing to a higher than human power. They knew, that 
the fear of the gods was necessary to strengthen the 
sinews, to temper and harden the iron hand of law, 
before it could be stretched forth and laid upon the 
turbulent passions and '-boiling wrath" of men. 
And it was under the influence of this belief and 
fear, that Greece and Rome were able to thrust 
themselves up to a proud eminence above the level 
of the surrounding nations ; — to plant their academ- 
ic groves — to build their temples — erect their altars, 
and burn incense to liberty. And their glory did 



272 SKEPTICISM. 

not depart nor their splendor become extinguished, 
nor did they fall from the high eminence they had 
attained, till the philosophy of Epicurus begun to 
pervade the public mind. It was not till Epicurean 
atheism had sapped the foundations of virtue and 
morality, that they experienced a political earth- 
quake, that sunk them in the grave of despotism. 
And in a modern nation of theorists, where 

" Vice prevailed, and impious men bore sway," 

the effects of skepticism are clearly exhibited. That 
great nation of skeptics, in their solemn assembly, 
deliberately voted God out of the world and out of 
existence. And when they sent forth the proclama- 
tion, that there was no God, and that death was an 
eternal sleep, the tocsin of infidelity rung with loud 
peals of joy through the whole realm of France ; and 
the people shouted with exultation, as they hailed 
the ushering in of an atheistic jubilee. But the ef- 
fect of turning off from human conduct the inspec- 
tion of the eye of Omniscience was terrific. It was 
like the uncapping of a volcano, the waking up of 
its silent thunders — the kindling to a. flame its smoth- 
ered embers, and letting a broad and fiery sheet of 
desolation roll up and settle down upon the nation. 
But skepticism not only removes the fear of the 
Supreme Being from men, but it seeks openly and 
avowedly the destruction of human government. It 
calls it superstition and tyranny. It would take off 
the restraints that civil authority throws around men 
— obliterate the distinction between right and wrong, 



SKEPTICISM. 273 

and give free and unbounded scope to the desires 
and passions. It would strike down the system of 
separate property — annihilate the great principle of 
attraction, that binds together the family circle and 
human society. It would herd men together like 
cattle, and send them forth, day by day, into one 
common pasture, to feed upon the dried husks and 
withered shrubbery of nature. It would quench the 
kindlings of maternal affection, — remove helpless 
infancy away from parental love, and commit it to the 
cold embrace of a selected few, whose care should 
be to watch over and protect it, but whose hearts 
cold as an iceberg would seal up its warm existence 
with the frosts of death. 

Skepticism removes every barrier and imbankment 
that conscience and religion have thrown up to 
check and restrain the passions, and permits them to 
rush with head-long impetuosity down upon the del- 
icate and complicated structure of human society. 
It cuts the last strand in that cable by which our 
hopes and safety are moored, and sends us forth up- 
on the broad ocean of uncertainty, to be tossed and 
driven by the tempests and whirlwinds of passion. 
In its nature it is opposed to all truth, and would 
efface every vestige of it from the universe. 



*** The foregoing article was written in the spring session of the 
Author's senior year in college. 



REVIEW OF E. 0. SMITH'S POEMS. 



The Poetical Writings of Mrs. Elizabeth 
Oakes Smith. New York, J. S. Redfield, Clin- 
ton Hall, 1845, pp. 204, 18mo. Edited by Rufus 
W. Griswold. 

This is the first of anything like a complete edi- 
tion of Mrs. Smith's poetical writings. And this is 
by no means a complete edition of them. The 
1 Sinless Child and other Poems ' were first publish- 
ed in 1842, and met with a very favorable reception. 
The public have become somewhat acquainted with 
her writings in this way, and also through the vari- 
ous magazines. A more complete collection of her 
writings has been felt for sometime, by many, to be 
a desideratum. They are now given to the public 
in an elegant form. The typographical execution 
does honor to the publishers. 

The work consists of < The Sinless Child,' Son- 
nets and Miscellaneous Poems. ' The Sinless 
Child,' we perceive, has been re-written and much 
improved since it was published in ] 842. This poem 
has been deservedly admired by all who have read 
it. Eva, the sinless child, is ' a simple cottage mai- 
den, given to the world in the widowhood of one 



REVIEW OF E. O. SMITH'S POEMS. 275 

parent, and the angelic existence of the other, like a 
bud developed amid the sad, sweet sunshine of au- 
tumn, when its sister flowers are all sleeping, and is 
found from her birth to be as gentle as are those 
pale flowers that look imploringly upon us, blooming 
as they do apart from the season destined for their 
existence, and when those that should hold tender 
companionship with them have ceased to be. She 
is gifted with the power of interpreting the beauti- 
ful mysteries of our earth. The delicate penciling 
traced upon the petals of the flowers, she finds full 
of gentle wisdom, as well as beauty. The song of 
the bird is not merely the gushing forth of a nature 
too full of blessedness to be silent, but she finds it 
responsive to the great harp of the universe, whose 
every tone is wisdom and goodness. She sees the 
world, not merely with mortal eyes, but looks with- 
in to the pure internal life, of which the outward 
is but a type.' — p. 17. 

All lowly and familiar things 

In earth, or air ; or sky 
A lesson brought to Eva's mind 

Of import deep and high ; 
She learned from blossom in the wild, 

From bird upon the wing, 
From silence and the midnight stars, 

Truth dwells in every thing.' — p. 25. 

This poem cannot fail to have an elevating effect 
upon those who read it. The reader feels he is 
breathing in a heavenly atmosphere — that there is a 
blessedness in being " pure in heart " — and that to 



276 REVIEW OF E. 0. SMITH'S POEMS. 

such alone it is given to see God in every thing. He 
is also convinced that intellectual greatness is not 
the highest elevation of his nature. There may be 
much of happiness in the workings of a highly cul- 
tivated intellect ; but he, who stops 'at that point, 
stops far short of the true end of existence. There 
is a higher life, which he has not begun to live. 
There is a purer blessedness he has not felt, — blissful 
bovvers he has not visited, — rose gardens whose fra- 
grant air he has never breathed, pearly islands where 
he has never dwelt. The highest bliss is given only 
to those who are sinless. The intellectual man rrray 
heap together his stores of knowledge, and hope to 
find it there. But he finds it not. He is as wretch- 
ed as the famishing miser with nothing but his bags 
of gold, starving in the midst of wealth. Every 
one, who is convinced of this point, will also be con- 
vinced in reading this poem, that something more 
than mere imagination or intellect was necessary to 
compose it. The pure, cool, refreshing stream from 
which he drinks, tells him of the purity of the foun- 
tain. There are peculiar states of mind, which, to 
describe, one must have experienced. There are 
feelings given to the " pure in heart," which language 
fails to express. They dwell veiled within the soul, 
uttered not, and comprehended only by those who 
have " waked the better soul " within. For 

••' He who has no inward beauty, none perceives, 
Though all around is beautiful." 

The better thoughts and feelings never get uttered. 



REVIEW OP E. O. SMITH'S POEMS. 277 

The author of this poem evidently felt this, and has 
beautifully expressed it in her inscription to ' The 
Sinless Child.' 

' Alas ! for I have failed, methinks, thy mystic life to trace, 
Thy holiness of thought and soul, thy wild, enchanting grace . 
Thou dwellest still within my heart, thy beauty all unsung 5 
Like bells that wake the village ear, by echo sweeter rung ; 
And, as thy graces one by one, upon my fancy steal, 
There lingereth yet another grace the soul alone can feel.' — p. 16. 

There are quite a number of other Poems and 
Sonnets in this volume. ' The Acorn ' is a popular 
poem, admired for its finish and play of fancy, and 
still more for its sentiment, by those who penetrate 
its meaning. ' The April Rain,' ' The Brook,' (one 
of our Maine brooks) and ' The Drowned Mariner/ 
every one will delight to read. Mrs. Smith has writ- 
ten admirable sonnets. But we think it will take 
some time to make the sonnets admired by Ameri- 
can readers. It requires more of penetration and 
delicate taste than is usually met with, to appreciate 
a sonnet. Those who like them will be pleased 
with those found in this volume. We might point 
to many other pieces of much beauty in this volume, 
had we space. But we will simply remark upon 
some of the prominent characteristics brought out in 
the writings of Mrs. Smith. 

The first is a keen perception of the beautiful. 
Blended with this is a nice perception of the delicate. 
There is also a strong sympathy with the loveliness 
that dwells in natural objects, ever beckoning the 
soul to a sweet communion. She sees beauty and 
24 f 



278 REVIEW OF E. O. SMITH'S POEMS. 

loveliness not only in the fleecy cloud and starry 
diadem of night, but in the lowly dell, the butterfly 
on golden wings — in the ' rocking branch,' 

— ' And the ripples bright, 
As down the stream they go ; 
The pebbles are dry on the upper side, 
And dark and wet below.' — p. 71. 

She points us to a thousand beauties, sparkling all 
around us, which we never thought of before. 

Another thing is purity and elevation of thought. 
Sometimes there is much strength of thought, often 
much sublimity. There is always, however, in her 
poetical writings, the truly feminine. We do not 
forget that she is a woman, and has a woman's heart 
filled with the love of the pure, the elevating. We 
like this feature. It adorns, it graces. Yet Mrs. 
Smith has shown in her prose writings that she can 
put forth a masculine, sinewy strength in grappling 
with argument. She is no stranger in the schools 
of philosophy, and has as great a taste for metaphys- 
ics as for poetry. 

We will specify one other feature in her writings, 
and that is, the use she makes of the Saxon element 
of our tongue. Almost every word is Saxon. We 
deem her fortunate in this. The Saxon element is 
the best element. It is rich, flexible, strong. There 
is a clearness in it, that is adapted to metaphysics ; 
the philosopher who uses it will not swim in muddy 
waters. It has also strength, which can clothe the 
orator with power. Mrs. Smith has shown that it is 
also capable of bringing out the most delicate beau- 






REVIEW OF E. 0. SM1TH ? S POEMS. 279 

ties of poetry as well as the purest hues of the soul. 
We feel proud of the Saxon tongue, as we turn over 
the pages of this volume. Our wonder is, that our 
poets can be willing to use any other. It sounds as 
sweetly in song, as the delicate notes of the guitar, 
and the melody of the harp. Our ear may be sadly 
out of tune ; be it so. We are not sorry. We will 
only ask, when you sing to us, sing to us in the Saxon 
melody. 

Mrs. Smith has been placed by some at the head 
of the female poetic writers of our country. Those 
who read her writings, will not be disposed probably, 
to deny to her that position. Should her life be 
spared, we may yet expect much from her pen, that 
shall adorn American genius. This volume proves, 
that some of the most delicate flowers of genius may 
be found on this side of the Atlantic, and can bud 
and blossom even in the cold regions of Maine. 

Mrs. Smith is a native of our own State. She 
has sailed along our craggy shores, and breathed our 
mountain air, — admired our glassy lakes and visited 
our beautiful bays. It is not wonderful then, that 
she possesses a fortitude that sustains her amid a sea 
of troubles. A native of Maine never thinks of 
yielding to difficulties, but meets and moves through 
them with the ease and calmness, with which the 
storm-bird encounters the tempest. 

To those who have read the writings of our author, 
we need not recommend this volume. They will 
very soon obtain it. But to those who have not 



280 REVIEW OF E. O. SMITH'S POEMS. 

seen her writings, we would say, purchase this vol- 
ume — you will not regret it. You will be better for 
having read it. A heavenly dew silently falls on the 
spirit as you read. 

Hausen Herrlingkeit. 
Bangor, August 20, 1845. 




THOUGHTS ON THE DIVINITY OF CHRIST. 



The divinity of Christ not an impossibility, 
not irrational ; not false because it is 

MYSTERIOUS. It CAN BE BELIEVED, AND BE RE- 
VEALED. 

By the divinity of Christ, I mean, that Christ pos- 
sesses a nature similar to that of God, embracing in 
it all the attributes of God, so that whatever can be 
predicated of the existence and nature of God, can 
with equal truth be predicated of the existence and 
nature of Christ. 

The divinity of Christ, as thus stated, is either 
true or false. If it is false, then it is so for some 
one, or all of the following reasons. 

I. Because it is impossible for Christ to possess 
the nature and attributes of God. This impossibili- 
ty arises necessarily from the nature of God. He 
is the uncaused first cause of all things. His na- 
ture is a perfect unity. As it respects his natural 
and moral attributes,! his nature is sui generis. 
His unity cannot be broken up, and divided. His 
omniscience, omnipotence, omnipresence, indepen- 
dence, wisdom, and immutability cannot be shared 
with another. Could this be done, whatever con- 
24* 



282 THOUGHTS ON THE DIVINITY OF CHRIST. 

stitutes Him God would depart from Him, and He 
would cease to be God. Hence arises the utter im- 
possibility of the possession of these attributes by 
Christ, a distinct person, and thus the impossibility 
of his divinity. 

In reply to this objection it may be said, (1), that 
if we grant that all these attributes belong to God, 
and that the very nature of them forbids their being 
imparted to another, yet the fact of the existence of 
these and other divine attributes and the impossi- 
bility of their communicability, proves nothing as to 
the mode of their existence. We may demonstrate 
the existence and the degree, of benevolence in the 
Divine Mind, but cannot thereby demonstrate the 
manner in which it exists and is exercised. We 
may do the same in relation to any other attribute 
of God. We may take, for instance, his unity or 
oneness. We can show that it exists, — that it exists 
necessarily, and that it exists perfectly ; and yet, 
when we have done this, we have not shown the 
manner in which this oneness exists and is exhibit- 
ed, nor have we demonstrated that it must necessa- 
rily exist in only one mode, and that it is utterly 
impossible, that it should exist and be exhibited in 
any other. And since the bare existence of the di- 
vine unity and other attributes, proves nothing as to 
their mode of existence, it is not impossible, that 
they may, as one mode of their existence, dwell 
fully in Christ and constitute his nature. 

It may be replied, (2,) that since the impossibility 



THOUGHTS ON THE DIVINITY OF CHRIST. 283 

in the case supposed, does not arise from the mode 
of the existence of the divine attributes, neither does 
it arise from the knowledge of the mode of the di- 
vine existence. To understand perfectly all the at- 
tributes of the Deity, and the mode of their exist- 
ence and exercise, is to comprehend God perfectly . 
that is, for the finite to comprehend perfectly the 
Infinite ; which is as impossible as it is for a part of 
a thing to become the whole. No one, then, can 
say with any truth, that it is impossible for Christ to 
possess the divine attributes, because he knows the 
modes of God's existence ; for he does not know 
them, nor is it possible that he should, unless it is 
possible for a part of a thing to become the whole. 
Since, therefore, no knowledge of the modes of the 
divine existence can enable any one to say that it is 
impossible for Christ to be divine, it follows, that it 
is not impossible that Christ should be divine. 

But we remark again, (3), that since no impossi- 
bility, in the case supposed, can arise either from the 
existence or the mode of the existence of certain attri- 
butes in the Divine Mind, that, therefore, the posses- 
sion on the part of Christ of these attributes, is alto- 
gether possible. For the impossibility can only 
arise from the existence or the mode of the existence 
of these attributes, and as neither of them renders 
the divine nature of Christ impossible, it follows that 
his divine nature is possible. For what is not im- 
possible is certainly possible. 

II. If the divinity of Christ is a false doctrine, it 
is so because it is irrational. 



284 THOUGHTS ON THE DIVINITY OF CHRIST. 

In answer to this, it may be said that if this doe- 
trine is irrational, it is so because it implies a contra- 
diction, is contrary to universal experience and con- 
tradicts our moral sense. In the first place, is it a 
contradiction ? It is not within the power of the 
mind to believe a contradiction to be true. That 
two parallel lines diverge, or a half of a thing is 
equal to the whole, or that one and two are equal to 
five, involves a contradiction. As soon as under- 
stood they appear irrational, and are so. If, then, 
the divinity of Christ means that he is one person, 
and God another person, and yet these two persons 
make one person, it is a plain contradiction or ab- 
surdity, and it is as utterly impossible for the human 
mind to believe it, as it is to believe that a 
whole is much less than a part, or that two and two 
make twenty seven. If such were the doctrine, it 
would be so irrational, that no arguments whatever 
could render it true or rational. But if the divinity 
of Christ implies that there is but one God, and yet 
three persons, of which Christ is one, and that these 
three divine persons are one God ; then no one can 
perceive a contradiction, or any thing irrational in 
the divinity of Christ. We cannot form a clear 
conception of three distinct persons constituting but 
one person, because this is contrary to reason ; but 
we can form a distinct idea of God as one person, ef 
Christ as another, and if we may suppose, being 
may, in respect to the Deity, signify something dif- 
ferent from person, then we can easily conceive of 



THOUGHTS ON THE DIVINITY OF CHRIST. 285 

God as but one being, existing as two or three di- 
vine persons. There is nothing in this absurd or 
contrary to reason. " There may be, for aught we 
know, an incomprehensible something in the one 
self-existent Being, which lays a proper foundation 
for his existing" as three persons. This doctrine of 
Christ's divinity, therefore, is not irrational, because 
that it implies a contradiction ; for there is no con- 
tradiction. If it is irrational, then, it must be, (2) 
because it is contrary to universal experience, that 
is, contrary to the laws and operations of nature. 
But the laws and operations of nature are known to 
have an existence only by experience. Some laws 
in nature may have an existence although wholly 
unknown ; and they may remain unknown, because 
they have never been experienced. But if we have 
actually experienced a thing, then any thing which 
contradicts that experience, is incredible, and there- 
fore irrational. As for instance, that ice will always 
burn, or that the sun produces darkness — these are 
incredible, being contrary to experience ; therefore 
irrational. But neither we, nor any of the rest of 
mankind, have had experience of the mode of the 
existence of angels ; we cannot, therefore, say that 
it is contrary to reason that they should exist in one 
way, rather than in another. Much less have we 
had experience of the mode of God's existence, and 
therefore, we cannot say, whether He exists in 
one particular way or in another. If He should ex- 
ist in a thousand different modes, it would not con- 



286 THOUGHTS ON THE DIVINITY OF CHRIST. 

tradict our experience or that of our race. There- 
fore, there is nothing in the universal experience 
that renders the divinity of Christ contrary to reason. 
If then, it is irrational, it must be, (3), because it 
contradicts our moral sense. If it contradicts our 
moral sense, it must be because there is something 
in the divinity of Christ, that is morally wrong — that 
transgresses the great rule of moral rectitude written 
upon our hearts. But it is difficult to see any thing 
contrary to the rule of moral rectitude in such a mode 
of God's existence as implies the divinity of Christ. It 
no more violates the great law of moral rectitude, than 
our existing in the possession of body and soul is a vio- 
lation of it. It is no more a violation of it, than it 
is for an apple to assume the form of a circle rather 
than that of a triangle. Hence there is nothing in 
the moral sense of any being that renders the divin- 
ity of Christ irrational, or contrary to reason. 

If the divinity of Christ is not impossible, is not 
irrational, is not contrary to universal experience, or 
contradictory to the moral sense of beings ; then the 
falsity of it must arise, 

III. From its mysteriousness. 

But in answer to this, it may be said, in the first 
place, that the mere fact that a thing is mysteri- 
ous proves nothing as to its falsity. A thing or 
event is mysterious, when the cause of its existence or 
mode of existence is unknown. If, then, the mere 
fact, that the mode of Christ's divine existence is 
unknown or mysterious, proves his divinity to bo 



THOUGHTS ON THE DIVINITY OF CHRIST. 287 

false ; then the mode of God's existence as the un- 
caused first cause, being mysterious or unknown, 
proves that He does not exist. We do not know 
the mode of the connection between our minds and 
bodies — it is mysterious ; but if. the mysteriousness 
of a thing proves it to be false, then, there is, in fact, 
no connection between body and soul, and the uni- 
versal belief on the subject is the result of mere de- 
lusion. 

We remark, in the second place, that so far is the 
mysteriousness of Christ's divinity from proving it 
false, that it renders the truth of it altogether prob- 
able. For (1) it is altogether according to the 
common course of events in the natural world. 
And (2) it is according to the common course of 
events in the moral world. And (3) it is highly 
necessary to the moral discipline of beings. And 
(4) it is absolutely necessary from the nature of 
God and the relations of other beings to Him. For 
it is impossible that a creature — a finite being 
— should comprehend the infinite Creator. God's 
existence as to its cause and mode is a mystery, and 
will always remain so ; for the simple reason, that 
no creature has the powers of mind, which will ena- 
ble him to know the cause and mode of his exis- 
tence. If then the mysteriousness of Christ's divinity 
does not prove that it is false, then it is false, 

IV. Because it cannot be believed. The divinity of 
Christ can not be comprehended ; the human mind 



288 THOUGHTS ON THE DIVINITY OF CHRIST. 

cannot believe what it cannot comprehend ; therefore, 
it cannot believe the divinity of Christ. And since the 
mind can believe what is true, but cannot believe the 
divinity of Christ, therefore, the divinity of Christ 
is false. 

In answer to this, we remark, in the first place, 
that although no mind can believe what it does not 
comprehend ; yet it may and does believe in the ex- 
istence of incomprehensible things. It believes in 
the existence of duration, of immensity, of infinity, of 
immortality and of a first cause of things; but these are 
things incomprehensible. The mind has a clear 
perception of the existence of these facts, and there- 
fore believes them, though the facts themselves are 
incomprehensible. So the mind can believe the ex- 
istence of the divine nature of Christ, while it is 
unable to comprehend the mode of that existence. 
The fact that Christ does thus exist is what the mind 
can believe ; — how He thus exists, it does not and 
cannot understand. 

We remark, in the second place, that if we can- 
not believe in the existence of a thing unless we 
comprehend perfectly that thing itself, then we can- 
not believe in the existence of ourselves ; for we do 
not comprehend perfectly either our material or 
spiritual nature — much less the union of the two. 
For the same reason, we cannot believe any thing 
whatever ; for there is no fact, event, or thing in the 
universe, that we fully comprehend. The divinity 
of Christ then, is not false because it cannot be be- 



THOUGHTS ON THE DIVINITY OF CHRIST. 289 

lieved. If therefore, the doctrine is false, it must be so, 
V. Because it cannot be revealed. 
In reply to this, it may be said, that if the doc- 
trine is possible, as has been shown, and is not con- 
trary to reason, as has been proved, and is not false 
because it is mysterious, and can be believed, then 
the impossibility of its being revealed does not arise 
from either of these causes. Therefore the impossi- 
bility of its being revealed must arise either from the 
inadequacy of human language to convey such a 
revelation, or from the inability on the part of God 
to make a revelation of it. In relation to the first 
of these, we remark that although human language 
cannot convey a revelation of the mode of the di- 
vinity of Christ ; yet it can convey or express the 
fact of his divine existence, as much as it can ex- 
press the fact of the existence of any other being or 
thing. And even if language should fail entirely to 
convey a revelation of Christ's divine nature, yet it 
can be revealed without it. Christ himself stood 
forth in our world the complete revelation of it. 
He was " the brightness of God's glory — the image of 
his essence." Although his verbal testimony could 
not make a revelation of Him, yet works evidently 
could, and did do it. 

As to the inability of God to make a revelation of 
this kind, it must have been either of a physical or 
of a moral nature. It appears from the foregoing 
statement, that it could not have been of a physical 
character ; and since the doctrine is altogether a 
25 



290 the soul's immortality. 

possible one and does not contradict reason, univer- 
sal experience and the moral sense of men, the ina- 
bility on the part of God could not have been of a 
moral nature — and since there was neither a physical 
nor a moral inability on the part of God, that could 
prevent Him from making such a revelation, then, 
there was no inability at all on his part. Therefore 
a revelation of the true divinity of Christ was alto- 
gether possible. 

* # * The preceding article was written as preparatory to the present- 
ing of the Scriptural argument for the divinity of Christ. 



THE SOUL'S IMMORTALITY. 

For it is not a flower, whose scent with the dropping leaves expires, 
And it is not a household lamp, that a breath should quench its fires. 

Mrs. Hcmans. 

The mind of man filled with a consciousness of 
its existence, and rejoicing in the possession of its 
mighty powers, has ever burned with the desire of 
immortality. Whenever the thought of annihilation 
has flashed across the soul, it has started back with 
horror, and with deep solicitude put the question, 
" If a man die, shall he live again ?" Every age has 
borne witness to the anxiety, that men have felt, in 
respect to this important question, and the diligence 
they have manifested in tasking their energies to the 
uttermost to solve it. The philosophers of Greece 



the soul's immortality. 291 

and Rome took up the inquiry with all that interest 
the question naturally inspires. Their gigantic in- 
tellects were brought to this herculean task. But 
it proved too mighty for them. Surrounded by the 
midnight darkness of heathenism, whatever direction 
they took, they soon found themselves foundering 
amid the bogs of materialism, or bound fast in the 
coils of superstition and their own sophistry. They 
struggled nobly to extricate themselves, — but it was 
a giant's strength, expended in vain. Reason indeed 
occasionally shot a ray of light through the surround- 
ing darkness, and they caught a glimpse of the path 
they should take. But these glimmerings were too 
feeble to afford any real aid. To most they but ren- 
dered the darkness more fearful. If any fortunately 
gained the true path, and the light, as they travelled 
on, grew brighter and brighter ; it was only to 
reap the greater disappointment of finally seeing 
its glories extinguished by the damp exhalations, 
that rose from the grave. In life they cherished the 
instinctive longings of the soul for immortality, and 
reason threw around them the pleasing reality of its 
truth : but when they approached the grave, the 
clouds of uncertainty gathered fast and thick about 
it. The light of reason could not penetrate the 
shadowy future ; and they descended with many 
fears into the cold and gloomy chambers of the tomb. 
And this gloom continued to hangover the mouth 
of the sepulchre, till Christianity, like an angel of 
mercy, descended and took her stand by its side. 
" She kindled a torch, which irradiated the valley of 



292 the soul's immortality 

the shadow of death — threw a radiance into the 
world beyond, and revealed it peopled with the spirits 
of the departed." So that whoever now firmly 
believes the teachings of the Gospel, may rest assur- 
ed that, " if a man die, he shall live again." He has 
this hope as an anchor to the soul, sure and steadfast. 

The soul of man has a strong confidence of its 
future existence, arising from the necessity of im- 
mortality to the full development of its powers. 

It would explore nature in her most hidden recess- 
es — visit her in her most retired apartments. And 
then its thoughts would turn to the study of the hu- 
man race — the phenomena and laws of the mind. 
But, in all these efforts its energies would not be fully 
developed, nor its desires for knowledge satisfied. 
It would feel, that it had just begun to learn its own 
powers, and to make discoveries in the world of ex- 
istence. It would look up to those bright orbs 
above it, that continually roll in their silent glory, 
and long to burst its clayey tenement, and wing 
its unobstructed flight in search of new and 
more glorious objects of thought. It would ex- 
plore the boundaries of the universe — visit the 
most distant star, that shines on the fartherest 
bounds of creation — learn its history — the character 
and customs of its inhabitants — their employments 
and laws. And, then, when no further discoveries 
could be made, stationed thus upon the very limits 
of creation, it would look off upon the interminable 
space beyond, vainly endeavoring to grasp the idea 
of the infinite. * * 



THE EFFECTIVE UTTERANCE OF TRUTH 



The great object of the preacher is to impress the 
understanding and the heart. The instrument, with 
which he is to do it, is the truth. This is the sword 
of the Spirit, taken from the armory of Heaven, 
pointed and edged. The preacher's success will 
depend upon the manner, in which he uses this in- 
strument. He must have strength and skill. For 
truth, like edged tools in the hands of children, is a 
very dangerous article for some minds to meddle 
with. We are kept, either in constant fear lest they 
perform a fatal amputation upon themselves, or in 
pain to see so excellent a weapon used in so bun- 
gling a manner. Truth may be used in splitting 
hairs ; but its more appropriate work is the breaking 
of bones, the dividing asunder of joints and marrow. 
It is an instrument for killing giants, for cutting off the 
heads of Anakims. It is so heavy, that many have 
not strength enough to wield it. They stagger 
beneath its weight. Hercules' club is too ponder- 
ous a weapon for such striplings. They had better 
not attempt to carry it. Let them, as a champion of 
truth has well remarked, « wait till they have attain- 
ed to six cubits and a span, before they meddle with 
25* 



294 THE EFFECTIVE UTTERANCE OF TRUTH. 

Saul's armor, or venture to make the staff of their 
spear of a weaver's beam." 

In order to do execution, the preacher should utter 
the truth with clearness. In its nature truth is im- 
pulsive. But it loses its impulsive power, just in 
proportion to its obscurity. To convince the under- 
standing, and move the heart, there must be clear- 
ness of thought, of arrangement, and diction. The 
truth must lie clearly in the preacher's mind ; other- 
wise darkness will be engendered in every sentence. 
He must know what to say, and hoiv to say it. Deep, 
solid thinking will give him the ability to mould 
thought, to forge it into strong and massive links of 
logic. It makes him clear-headed. His mind be- 
comes a transparent lens, gathers the scattered rays 
that fall upon it, and throws them with concentrated 
intensity upon the understanding and the heart. 
Sound, clear thinking will keep him from wandering 
off into "the dark, unbottomed, infinite abyss" of 
mysticism, that nursery of 

" All monstrous, all prodigious things, 
Abominable/unutterable, and worse 
Than fables yet have feigned, or fear conceived." 

It operates upon the mind as a proper gravitating 
power, ever attracting it to the world of common 
sense. Clear thinking keeps the preacher from 
making those brilliant balloon ascensions, that so 
much attract the admiring gaze of the multitude, 
while they forget, that the sole cause of its rapid 
and lofty flight is its extreme lightness. 






THE EFFECTIVE UTTERANCE OF TRUTH. 295 

" Wisdom is always nearer when we stoop 
Than when we soar." 

Clear thinking also gives a lucid arrangement. 
Thought after thought breaks in upon the mind, like 
the rising light of morning, steady, glowing, fervid. 
The preacher walks directly forward toward his ob- 
ject. There is no turning aside to botanize. He 
makes no butterfly excursions. 

There should be clearness of expression. Words 
should be well chosen — not too abundant. Truth 
never appears to advantage buried beneath a pon- 
derous verbiage. Let it be freed from this weight, 
and step forth in its own stateliness with an easy, 
natural dress, though coarse and homely. If the 
preacher wishes to warm the heart, the light should 
not struggle through a forest of words. Where 
there is a multiplicity of words, or obscurity of diction, 
there will be no melting process in the icy regions of 
the heart. Words should never be so cumbersome, 
that the thoughts break down beneath their weight. 
They should be but wings to thought. In the use 
of them, there should be a transparency, that leaves 
the object clear to the apprehension. The better the 
conducting medium, the more effective is the truth. 
That preacher does wisely, who, in getting truth into 
the mind, acts upon the mathematical principle, that 
the shortest distance between two points is a straight 
line. 

Vividness should be added. Vividness is the 
bright scintillations thrown oft* from a laboring, heat- 



296 THE EFFECTIVE UTTERANCE OF TRUTH. 

ed mind. There may be clearness without vivid- 
ness. Clearness relates to the understanding ; 
vividness to the imagination. Clearness shines in 
the sunbeam ; vividness flashes in the lightning. 
Vividness is arresting. It will oftentimes flare in 
upon the mind, even though the eye-lids of the un- 
derstanding are obstinately closed. It wakes up the 
leaden, dronish spirit. The preacher's mind, filled 
with the truth, is a well charged electric battery, that 
gives to those in contact with it a rousing, startling 
sensation. Vividness gives a glow to the truth, so 
that it becomes not only a hammer, but a fire, which 
together break the rock in pieces. It takes hold of 
the imagination, sets this magazine of the soul in a 
blaze. The imagination has an amazing power over 
the mind. The passions and inclinations yield to it, 
the reason surrenders itself a willing captive. It 
causes the truth to gravitate towards the heart, giv- 
ing to it an accelerated movement. The emotions 
are excited — the desires kindle — the heart melts. 

Vividness imparts to the truth a freshness — causes 
it to stand before the mind in its commanding, ar- 
resting greatness. It deals in illustrations, often of 
a bold and stirring character, so that the hearer some- 
times feel beneath him " the firm earth rock " — he 
sees the heavens gather blackness — hears the wild 
winds rend the vexed air, — the thunders muttering 
their rage, — and as he beholds the tempest rolling 
all its fury upon his guilty head, his soul quakes with 
fear. 



THE EFFECTIVE UTTERANCE OF TRUTH. 297 

To render the truth effective, it should be uttered 
with boldness. There is here too often a point of 
failure. Many present the truth with a great deal of 
tameness. There is an apparent want of confidence 
in the truth. The manner of such a preacher is full 
of timidity. He seems, as Robert Hall remarked of a 
certain man, " to beg pardon of all flesh for being in 
this world." He fears he shall do some mischief. 
He is careful never to assert things too strongly. 

" He would not with peremptory tone," 
Assert the nose upon his face his own, 
With hesitation, admirably slow, 
He humbly hopes, presumes, it may be so.' ' 

Truth is a weapon he would use with great caution. 
He is afraid of a sledge, lest some one's brains may be 
dashed out by it. Such timidity is altogether un- 
worthy of the truth. It weakens its power. For its 
efficiency depends very much upon its being uttered 
with an honest boldness. Men are influenced by the 
exhibition of boldness. They are so constituted, that 
they yield a belief, temporary at least, and more or 
less strong, when objects are presented in this man- 
ner. Men suppose there must be some truth con- 
nected with it, as a matter of course. It is taken for 
granted, that he, who has the truth, may with propri- 
ety utter it boldly. No one blames him for doing so. 
Boldness is the inseparable complement of the truth. 
The truth begets it. Hence it is, that so many are 
taken captive by the latter, when unaccompanied by 
the former. Let the preacher in uttering the great 



298 THE EFFECTIVE UTTERANCE OF TRUTH. 

truths of the Bible, reason like Paul, and Felix will 
tremble. The quietude of the feelings will be dis- 
turbed — the calm ocean within will begin to heave, 
and boil even with violent agitation. The truth thus 
becomes impulsive. It is no longer the brilliant 
rainbow — something bright and beautiful to be gazed 
at, admired, and philosophized about ; but like the 
lightning, it flashes, scathes, silences. Born in the 
skies, in its descent and effects, it shows it divinity. 

The great doctrines of the Bible boldly uttered, as 
stern, stubborn facts, will always be effective upon 
wicked men. It blasts their hopes of Heaven. It 
cuts the careless sinner from his moorings, and sets 
him adrift upon dark and perilous waters. Men 
hardened in sin tremble, when they find this element 
of boldness in the preacher. The barren mountain, 
that has remained for ages unaffected by the rain and 
dews of heaven, rocks and is riven by the earth- 
quake shock. Truth thus fearlessly uttered rakes 
open the smothered embers of depravity in the heart, 
so that sometimes it sends forth the black smoke and 
lurid flames of the pit. It will destroy men's peace, 
stir up their venom — drive them mad — send them 
away howling with rage. For, when did there ever 
a bold stroke fall upon the bulwarks of darkness, that 
did not cause gnashing of teeth ? 

Boldness gives directness. The truth has a point 
as well as an edge. The effective preacher will keep 
the point directed at the heart, and have nerve 
enough to thrust it home. The truths we most need 



THE EFFECTIVE UTTERANCE OF TRUTH. 299 

are those we hate most. The truth appears a beau- 
tiful weapon brandished in the glittering sunlight ; but 
when its point is directed towards ourselves, it seems 
anything but interesting. To have it murderously 
thrust through us appears a little inhuman. Men 
care but little how learnedly or how eloquently the 
preacher talks, if he does not direct his arrows at 
them. When he does, they are fearful lest some joint 
in their armor may admit the deadly weapon to their 
vitals. They can look on with calmness, and 
perhaps with some pleasure, while Samuel hews Agag 
in pieces ; but to be themselves hewn in pieces is 
not so agreeable. Many think it hard to be treated 
so uncivilly. They would rather the preacher would 
speak in more general terms — talk of truth in the 
abstract. It is easy to preach so as never to distress 
or offend men. There is a kind of preaching, that 
produces no quarrelling, and no repentance. It helps 
men comfortably down to the flames of Hell. But 
if the preacher would be faithful, he must like Jere- 
miah be pointed, though it shut him up in a dun- 
geon. . He must individualize his hearers, — hold the 
mind to the truth, till the conscience blisters ; crowd 
and press heavily upon them the weight of their re- 
sponsibilities, 

" Fearless of men and devils ; unabashed 
By sin enthroned, or mockery of the great ; 

unseduced 
By offered bribes, and mindful still of his 
Great charge, and vast responsibility ; 
High in the temple of the living God 
He must stand, amidst the people and declare 
Aloud the truth — the whole revealed truth, 
And for his trust answer at the day 
Of Judgment." 



300 CHRIST THE BREAD OF LIFE. 

I am the bread of life : He tiiat cometh to me. shall never hunger ; and 
he that believeth on me shall never thirst. Jesus. 

What remarkable words for a poor frail mortal 
like myself to utter ! Can a mere man have the 
presumption to feed my deathless spirit through time 
and eternity? Can Paul forever impart knowledge to 
my soul? Can Newton with all his powers of mind 
always be able to teach all that I wish to know ? By 
a humble perseverance I can in a few years climb far 
above the heights where he once stood. Nay, I hope 
to stand where Gabriel now stands, and from his 
highest flight to soar still higher. Can any created 
being always meet the wants of my soul, when in its 
immortal vigor it has grown up to Gabriel's stature 
— has a seraph's ardor and a seraph's love ? What 
being, then, is this, that proposes to feed my soul, till 
its desires are all met ? I am capable of infinite 
progression in knowledge — in bliss — and the pos- 
session of one series of the ascent toward the infi- 
nitely Perfect, only awakens a new desire to ascend 
still higher. I am capable of venerating and wor- 
shipping with more than a seraph's fervor ; whom 
shall I worship, till this need of my soul is satisfied ? 
Shall he be a man, an angel or any created being ? 
The soul, in its upward aspirations, asks, is there 
not a higher ? What creature dares present himself 
to our world as an eternal inheritance ? Who could 
insult my own being more? Who could dishonor my 
Maker more ? Can it be, that the spotless Jesus, the 
friend of God and man, should say to me, I am the 
bread of life ; he that cometh tome, shall never hun- 
ger ; and he that believeth on me, shall never thirst, 
unless He is indeed the living God ? the eternal Je- 
hovah ? the soul's everlasting portion ? If He can 
fill the utmost yearnings of my soul, then, is He my 
God. Iwill worship Him as my Maker, and no power 
shall steal the boon of blessedness from my bosom. 



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